LIBRARY 


LETTERS    FROM    ABROAD 


TO 


KINDRED    AT    HOME, 


"  Well,  John,  I  think  we  must  own  that  God  Almighty  had  a  hand  in  making 
other  countries  besides  ours." — The  Brothers. 


BY   THE   AUTHOR   OF 

"HOPE   LESLIE,"  "POOR   RICH   MAN  AND   THE  RICH   POOR   MAN," 
"  LIVE   AND   LET    LIVE,"   &C,,  &C. 


IN     TWO    VOLUMES. 


VOL.  IL 


NEW-YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 

184L 


5 1  0  8  2 

Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1841,  by 

Harper  &  Brothers, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


/ 


LETTERS,    i&c. 


JOURNEY    TO    LANSLEBOURG. 

Sunday  Evening,  October  20. 

Here  we  are,  my  dear  C,  at  the  foot  of  Mont 
Cenis,  at  the  Hotel  Royal,  reading  and  writing  by 
an  excellent  wood  fire,  the  first  we  have  had  or 
needed.  This  inn  was  built  by  the  order  of  Napo- 
Jeon,  and  K.  and  I  have  slept  in  the  room  he  occu- 
pied, more  soundly  than  he  did,  I  fancy. 

Our  first  day's  drive  to  Annecy  was  through  a 
pretty  country  of  hill  and  dale.  The  leaves  were 
falling  in  showers,  almost  the  only  autumnal  sign. 
The  ground,  highly  cultivated,  was  looking  as  green 
as  ours  does  on  the  first  of  September,  and  much  as 
our  Berkshire  may  a  hundred  years  hence.  I  won- 
der if  that  lapse  of  time  will  bring  us  the  conve- 
nience we  find  here,  of  extra  horses  at  the  foot  of 
every  long  hill,  ready  to  be  attached  to  the  travel- 
ler's carriage. 

Annecy  is  a  little  place,  rendered  interesting  by  its 
thrift — a  singular  quality  in  a  Savoy  town — and  by 
its  old  chateaux  and  sanctuaries  that  have  a  name  in 
history,  religious  and  civil.  I  went  out  alone,  while 
the  day  was  dawning,  to  the  sanctuary  where  the 
bones  of  St.  Fran9ois  de  Sales  and  La  Mere  Chantal 


8  JOURNEY     TO     LANSLEBOURG. 

are  permitted  to  lie  side  by  side.  "  A  tender  friend- 
ship," says  the  pious  Catholic,  "  subsisted  between 
these  saints."  Protestant  scandal  does  not  allow  this 
platonic  character  to  the  sentiment  that  united  them  ; 
but  let  religious  pity  keep  close  the  veil  which  hides 
the  history  of  feelings  that  a  forced  condition  con- 
verted into  crime.  I  like  to  enter  a  Catholic  church 
in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  while  the  lights  on  the 
altar  are  struggling  through  the  misty  dawn,  while 
the  real  people  that  glide  in  and  drop  down  before 
the  images  and  pictures  are  as  shadowy  as  the 
pictures  themselves;  and  the  poor,  old,  haggard 
creatures  come  tottering  in  to  say  in  the  holy  place, 
as  it  would  seem,  their  last  prayer ;  and  the  busy 
peasant,  with  her  basket  on  her  arm  and  her  child 
at  her  side,  drops  in  to  begin  her  day  of  toil  w^ith 
an  act  of  worship.  I  saw  in  that  dim  sanctuary  a 
scene  that  would  make  too  long  a  story  for  a  letter, 
dear  C.  When  I  entered,  two  persons  (my  dramatis 
personse)  were  kneeling  before  an  altar,  over  which 
hung  a  painting  representing  the  frail  saint  (if,  in- 
deed, the  Mere  de  Chaptal  were  frail)  as  triumph- 
antly trampling  on  temptation  in  the  old  form  of 
the  serpent. 

We  stopped  for  a  while  at  Aix  to  see  baths  fa- 
mous in  the  time  of  the  Romans,  and  which  are 
still  in  good  preservation.  The  water  resembles  that 
of  the  hot  springs  of  Virginia;  its  temperature  is 
110^  of  Fahrenheit.  Till  we  reached  Chambery 
Savoy  appeared  fertile;  and  the  hills  in  the  ap- 
proach to  this  town,  its  capital,  are  covered  with 


JOURNEY     TO     LANSLEBOURG.  9 

vineyards,  and  very  beautiful,  but  the  town  itself, 
or  so  much  of  it  as  we  saw,  is  horrid;  its  nar- 
row, dirty  streets  filled  with  beggars,  soldiers,  and 
priests.  You  may  resolve  the  three  classes  into  one. 
The  beggar  frankly  begs,  the  priest  begs,  pleading 
the  sanction  of  divine  authority,  and  the  soldier  takes 
without  the  pains  of  begging. 

A  priest  in  the  court  of  our  Chambery  inn  beset 
Frangois  for  money  to  say  masses  for  his  dead :  "  Mes 
morts,"  replied  our  courier-philosopher,  "  Mes  morts 
sont  tons  en  paradis  ;"*  "  and  if  they  w^ere  not,"  he 
added,  "  what  could  such  men  as  they  do  for  them  ?" 
Alas  for  his  Catholic  faith  in  our  heretical  company  I 

The  road  from  Chambery  is  continually  ascend- 
ing, with  Alps  on  each  side,  little  towns  pitched  in 
among  the  rocks,  and  habitations  sprinkled  over  the 
rough  and  sharp  hill-sides,  where  it  seems  hard 
"work  for  a  few  goats  to  find  subsistence.  I  have 
seen  many  a  patch  of  rye,  that  I  could  cover  with  my 
shawl,  niched  in  among  the  rocks,  and  the  people 
look  truly  like  the  offspring  of  this  hard,  niggard  soil. 
They  are  of  low  stature  and  shrunken,  and  their  skin 
like  a  shrivelled  parchment.  They  reminded  us  of 
the  Esquimaux,  and  the  pointed  cap  and  shaggy  gar- 
ment are  not  dissimilar  to  the  dress  of  the  savage. 
Half  of  them,  at  least,  have  goitres,  some  so  large  as 
to  be  truly  hideous  "  wallets  of  flesh."  But  far  more 
revolting  even  than  these  poor  wretches  with  their 
huge  excrescences,  are  the  Cretins ;  an  abounding 
species  of  idiot  who  infest  us,  clamorously  begging 

*  "  My  dead  are  all  in  paradise  !" 


10  JOURNEY     TO     LANSLEBOURG. 

with  a  sort  of  brutish  chattering,  compared  to  which, 
the  begging  children's  monotone  chant,  "  Monsieur, 
donnez — moi — un  peu — la  charite — s'il  vous  plait," 
is  music  The  Savoyard  is  far  down  in  the  scale  be- 
low the  German  peasant ;  he  will  rise  as  soon  as  the 
pressure  is  removed  ;  these  people  are  crushed  irre- 
coverably. Various  causes  are  assigned  for  their  pre- 
vailing physical  and  mental  diseases :  unwholesome 
water,  malaria,  and  inadequate  and  bad  food  suffi- 
ciently explain  them.  The  children,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, looked  fat  and  healthy.  It  takes  time  to  over- 
power the  vigour  of  nature,  and  counteract  the  bles- 
ed  effect  of  life  in  the  open  air.  The  people  in  the 
towns  appear  more  healthy  and  in  more  comfortable 
condition  than  in  the  open  country.  I  remarked 
among  them  some  young  women  stout  and  comely 
enough,  with  a  becoming  kind  of  cap,  with  broad, 
stiffly-starched  bands,  which  are  so  brought  together 
and  set  off  behind  that  they  resemble  white  wings. 
They  wear  a  black  riband  around  the  throat  (prob- 
ably adopted  to  hide  the  goitre)  fastened  by  a 
large  broach,  at  which  hangs  a  cross.  The  bot- 
toms of  their  skirts  are  ornamented  with  a  narrow- 
coloured  stripe,  some  with  one,  some  wdth  half  a 
dozen.  Francois  tells  us  that  a  red  stripe  indicates 
a  dowry  of  a  hundred  francs;  but,  as  this  is  but 
courier  information,  I  do  not  give  it  to  you  for  verity. 
You  know  it  is  my  habit  to  walk  whenever  I  can, 
and  to  talk  with  the  people  by  the  way-side ;  and 
as  the  roads  have  been  heavy  ever  since  we  left  Ge- 
neva, and  our  voiturier  is  a  "  merciful  man"  to  his 


JOURNEY    TO    LANSLEBOURG.  11 

beast,  I  have  had  this  indulgence  for  many  a  mile. 
The  Savoyards  speak  French  well,  though  they  use 
a  patois  among  themselves.  I  stopped  yesterday  to 
talk  to  some  women  who  were  washing  around  a 
fountain  on  their  knees.  One  of  them  said,  in  reply 
to  my  inquiry,  "  It  was  hard  enough  !"  "  But,"  said 
I,  "  you  should  have  cushions  to  kneel  on."  "  Ah, 
oui,  madame,  mais  les  pauvres  ne  sont  pas  les  rich- 
es ;"*  there  was  a  world  of  meaning  in  this  truism. 

I  joined  a  peasant-girl  in  the  twilight  last  even- 
ing who,  after  spending  her  whole  day  in  tending 
her  cow  at  an  hour's  walk  from  her  house,  was 
carrying  home  her  five  bottles  of  milk,  the  product 
of  the  cow.  What  would  our  peasant-givh  think  of 
such  a  life  ?  Their  leisurely,  lady-like  afternoons 
and  unmeasured  abundance  pass  in  vision  before  me 
as  I  ask  the  question. 

My  dear  C,  how  often  do  I  mentally  thank  God 
for  the  condition  of  our  w^orking  people !  My  poor 
way-side  friend  told  me  she  lived  on  barley,  milk, 
and  potatoes  -,  that  she  never  ate  meat ;  "  how  could 
she  when  she  had  no  money  to  buy  it  ?"  But  our 
host  at  Modane,  who  is  a  round,  full-fed,  jolly  widow- 
er, gives  a  different  version  of  the  poor's  condition, 
which,  from  his  sunny  position,  he  looks  down  upon 
quite  cheerily.  "They  have  salted  meat  for  win- 
ter," he  says,  "  occasionally  a  bottle  of  wine,  and 
plenty  of  brandy.  They  can  work  at  night  by 
oil  made  from  nuts  and  flaxseed;  they  have  a  por- 
tion of  wood  from  the  commune,  and  they  econ- 
*  "  Ah,  yes,  ma'am ;  but  the  poor  are  not  the  rich." 


12  JOURNEY     TO     LANSLEBOURG. 

omize  by  living  in  the  winter  in  the  stable !"  This 
is  the  common  discrepancy  between  the  rich  man's 
account  of  the  poor  and  the  poor  man's  own  story. 

Frangois  says,  "  What  think  you  the  charitable 
send  them  for  medicine  when  they  are  ill?  why, 
bread  ;  and  they  get  well,  and  live  to  a  hundred  or 
even  a  hundred  and  twenty  years !"  Perhaps  some 
of  our  feasting  Dives,  victims  of  turtle-soup,  pates 
de  foie  gras,  and — calomel,  might  envy  these  poor 
wretches,  who  find  in  a  w^heaten  loaf  "  Nature's 
sweet  restorative."  Life  is  a  "  tesselated  pavement, 
here  a  bit  of  black  stone  and  there  a  bit  of  white ;" 
it  is  not  all  black  even  to  the  Savoyard  mountaineer. 

Even  in  Savoy  the  "  schoolmaster  is  abroad." 
While  some  of  our  party  were  lunching  at  St.  Mi- 
chel, K.  and  I  walked  on.  Our  first  poste-restante 
was  on  the  pedestal  of  a  crucifix.  While  we  sat 
there,  a  pretty,  young  mother  came  out  of  a  house 
opposite  with  her  child.  I  called  the  little  tottler 
to  me,  and  the  mother  followed.  What  a  nice  let- 
ter of  introduction  is  a  child !  We  entered  into  con- 
versation. She  told  me  all  the  children  in  St.  Mi- 
chel went  to  school ;  that  they  had  two  schools  for 
the  poor ;  one  supported  by  the  commune,  and  an- 
other where  each  child  paid  three  francs  per  month. 
The  little  ten-months'-old  thing  gave  me  her  hand 
at  parting,  and  the  mother  said,  "  Au  revoir,  ma- 
dame."     "  Au  revoir .'"  where  may  that  be  1 

There  was  an  inscription  on  the  cross  under 
which  we  were  sitting,  purporting  that  a  certain 
bishop  granted  an  indulgence  of  forty  days  to  who- 


JOURNEY     TO     LANSLEBOURG.  13 

ever  should  say  a  paternoster,  an  ave,  and  perform 
an  act  of  contrition  before  that  crucifix.  I  asked 
a  good-humoured  peasant-girl  whom  we  joined  (the 
road  is  thronging  with  peasants  of  all  ages)  "  what 
was  meant  by  the  act  of  contrition."  She  said  it 
was  a  prayer  of  confession  and  humiliation,  begin- 
ning, "  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  je  me  repens,"  &c.,  and  that 
the  "  indulgence"  was  forty  days'  deduction  from 
the  time  for  which  the  soul  prayed  for  was  sen- 
tenced to  purgatory.  "  This,"  thought  I,  "  is  an 
easy  act,  and  the  bishop  barters  the  indulgence  at 
a  bargain  !"  But  the  pharasaic  feeling  was  but 
momentary,  my  dear  C,  and  I  was  ashamed  when 
I  thought  how  many  w^eary  creatures  had  paused 
there  and  laid  down  their  burdens,  while,  with  a 
simple  faith,  they  performed  their  act  of  worship 
and  humiliation,  and  of  love  for  the  departed.  When 
shall  we  learn  to  reverence  the  spirit  and  disregard 
the  form  1 

We  have  had  mists  and  rain  ever  since  we  left 
Chambery,  but  the  picturesqueness  of  our  journey 
has  been  rather  heightened  by  this  state  of  the  at- 
mosphere. Mist,  you  know,  sometimes  gives  a  char- 
acter of  sublimity  to  the  molehills  which  we  call 
mountains  at  home ;  you  may  then  imagine  what  its 
effect  must  be  here,  where  you  look  up  to  mountains 
folding  over  mountains,  from  valleys  that  you  can 
almost  span,  and  see  the  rocky  ramparts  lost  in  the 
clouds ;  or,  perhaps,  as  the  mist  drops  down  and  their 
snowy  pinnacles  catch  a  passing  sunbeam,  glitter- 
ing, as  it  seems,  in  mid  heaven.     The  cascades 

Vol.  II.— B 


14  JOURNEY     TO     SUS  A. 

which  pour  over  the  precipices  feed  with  a  thousand 
rivulets  the  Arc,  the  beautiful  stream  that  rushes 
along  the  valley. 


Susa,  Piedmont,  October  21. 

We  have  crossed  the  Alps,  my  dear  C,  and  are 
in  Italy,  but  not  quite  so  easily  as  I  write  it.  The 
weather  is  as  much  a  matter  of  speculation  to  those 
who  are  about  to  make  a  passage  of  the  Alps  as  if  they 
were  going  to  sea.  This  morning  at  three  I  was 
looking  out  from  my  window,  and  found  it  perfectly 
clear.  My  old  familiar  friends  were  shining  down 
on  the  valley  of  Lanslebourg,  Orion  on  his  throne, 
and  Jupiter  glittering  over  one  of  the  mountain-pin- 
nacles. "  Now,"  thought  I,  "  we  are  sure  of  a  fine 
day."  But  when  Fran9ois  came  round  to  our  doors 
with  his  customary  reveille,  "  Gate  oope"  (Francois 
always  speaks  English  in  the  hearing  of  the  na- 
tives !)  the  sky  was  overcast.  We  were  early  astir, 
which,  though  "  both  healthful  and  good  husband- 
ry," is  only  the  virtue  of  necessity  with  us. 

We  took  from  Lanslebourg  five  mules  to  drag 
up  our  carriage.  Each  mule,  of  course,  had  his 
muleteer.  The  voiturier  followed  with  his  horses ; 
and  Francois,  whose  devious  motions  often  re- 
mind me  of  Wamba's,  was  at  the  side  of  the  car- 
riage, before,  or  behind,  wherever  he  found  the 
best  listeners.  The  "  point  culminant"  of  this  pass 
is  six  thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  but  only  two  thousand  feet 


JOURNEY     TO     SUSA.  15 

above  the  valley  of  Lanslebourg.  This  was  the 
least  difficult  pass  into  Italy  before  Napoleon  came 
to  make  a  broad  and  easy  way  over  these  frightful 
barriers.  Charlemagne  led  an  army  over  Mont 
Cenis  in  the  ninth  century;*  and  this  was,  I  be- 
lieve, always  the  route  by  which  the  Frederics  and 
their  successors  brought  their  German  barbarians 
down  upon  the  plains  of  Italy.  The  Chevalier  Fab- 
broni  was  the  engineer  of  this  road,  and  was  seven 
years  in  bringing  it  to  its  present  perfection.  The 
road  is  carried  up  the  face  of  the  mountain  by  easy 
zigzags.  Again  and  again  we  turned  and  dragged 
on  our  weary  way,  and  yet  we  seemed  no  farther 
from  Lanslebourg,  which  was  always  directly  under 
us;  but  we  saw  by  our  joyous  "  compagnon  de  voy- 
age," the  Arc,  diminishing  to  a  thread,  that  we  were 
making  progress.  There  are  twenty-three  houses 
of  refuge  (ricoveri)  at  intervals  along  this  pass. 
Near  some  of  them  the  traveller  is,  at  particular  sea- 
sons, in  danger  from  avalanches,  and  at  all  are 
men  and  means  of  succour,  kept  by  the  government. 
The  girls  and  I  walked  up  the  greater  part  of  the 
way,  not  following  the  road,  but  taking  the  sharp 
cross-cuts.  I  had  some  talk  with  our  chief  mule- 
teer, a  clever  man.  Our  conversation  naturally 
turned  on  Napoleon,  "  small  in  stature  and  great 
in  mind,"  he  said ;  "  but  a  bloody  man,  that  cared 
not  how  many  he  sacrificed  to  his  ambition.  He 
made  a  beautiful  road,  not  for  our  good,  but  to  get 

*  The  Hospice  on  Mont  Cenis,  till  very  recently  a  monastery,  was 
instituted  by  Charlemagne. 


16  JOURNEY     TO     SUS  A. 

his  cannon  into  Italy.  Cependant,"  he  concluded, 
"  ceux  qui  I'aiment  et  ceux  qui  ne  I'aiment  pas  con- 
fessent  qu'il  n'y  a  plus  de  tetes  comme  celle-la  !'* 
("  After  all,  those  who  hke  him,  and  those  who  like 
him  not,  must  own  that  there  is  no  head  left  equal 
to  his.") 

As  we  ascended  we  got  a  sprinkling,  and,  at  the 
turns,  the  mist  was  driving  at  a  rate  to  be  no  faint 
remembrancer  of  the  gust  from  behind  the  sheet  of 
water  at  Niagara.  I  went  into  a  ricovero  to  dry  my 
feet.  The  good  dame  told  me  they  are  often  so  buri- 
ed in  snow  in  winter  that  she  does  not  step  her  foot 
out  of  doors  from  fall  to  spring.  There  was  a  baby 
in  the  cradle.  Here  they  are  born,  and  live,  and  may 
die,  for  her  husband  has  been  cantonnier  here  for  four- 
teen years.  He  receives  the  highest  pay — thirty  sous 
a  day,  and  his  house  and  firewood;  not  nearly  so 
much  as  you  pay  a  man-servant  who  has  his  food  from 
your  table  and  food  as  good  as  yours,  and  whose  life, 
compared  with  these  poor  people's,  is  a  perfect  holy- 
day.  Our  prudent  voiturier  dismissed  the  mules  be- 
fore passing  the  Savoy  barrier,  to  avoid  the  tariff  of 
five  francs  on  each  animal  attached  to  a  carriage ; 
a  tax  which  goes  towards  maintaining  the  road. 
*We  then  gave  the  honne  main  to  the  muleteers ;  a 
liberal  one,  I  fancy,  from  the  abundance  of  their 
bows,  and  their  cordial  "  bons  voyages !" 

Our  guide-book  had  promised  us  "  a  tolerable 
inn,"  and  a  regale  of  trout  from  the  lake ;  but,  un- 
luckily, we  went  into  the  kitchen  while  a  fire  was 
kindling  in  the  salon,  and  the  floor,  strewn  with  egg- 


9 
JOURNEY     TO     srSA«  17 

shells,  bones,  and  vegetable  refuse,  cured  our  appe- 
tites, albeit  we  are  not  over-nice  travellers.     These 
mountain  trout  have  been  from  time  immemorial  a 
source  of  revenue,  and  their  only  one,  to  the  monks 
of  the  Hospice.     The  Bishop  of  Susa  has  lately  put 
forth  the   lion's  claim,  and  the  poor  fathers  have 
been  driven  away.    After  passing  the  plain  of  Mont 
Cenis,  in  which  this  lake  lies,  we  began  descending 
a  broad,  smooth  road,  in  many  parts  cut  through  the 
solid  rock.    Wherever  it  is  necessary  to  have  an  ar- 
tificial support,  it  is  made  by  a  massy  wall  of  ma- 
sonry.   The  cascades,  which  would  dash  athwart  the 
road,  are  conveyed  underneath  by  aqueducts,  and  are 
let  out  on  the  lower  side  through  two  openings, 
doors,  windows,  mouths,  or  whatever  you  please  to 
call  them.     These  waterfalls   are  the  children  of 
the  scene,  full  of  life  and  beauty ;  we  needed  their 
cheerful  voices,  for  the  mist  became   clouds,  and 
we  actually  seemed  rolling  along  on  them.     We 
saw  nothing,  and,  after  a  little  while,  these  small, 
sweet  voices,  with  every  other  sound,  were  overpow- 
ered by  the  rushing  of  a  cataract  below  us.     We 
were  awed  and  silent.     At  this  moment,  two  strong, 
wild-looking  wretches  burst  out  upon  us.    Whether 
they  came  from  above  or  below  we  could  not  tell. 
They  thrust  their  hands  into  the  carriage,  vehement- 
ly demanding  charity,  and  looking  very  much  as  if 
they  had  a  good  will  to  take  what  we  had  no  will  to 
give.     Bacicia  cracked  his  whip  at  them  ;  this  had 
no  effect :  he  addressed  it  to  his  horses,  and  this  had ; 
for  they  brought  us  within  a  very  few  minutes  in 

B  2 


18  SUSA. 

sight  of  a  ricovero,  and  our  pursuers  withdrew. 
Franc^ois  and  the  voiturier  insist  they  meant  mischief, 
and,  since  we  have  escaped  the  danger,  we  are  quite 
"willing  to  believe  in  it.  After  going  down,  down, 
down,  the  mist  became  less  dense,  the  trees  began  to 
appear,  then  the  outlines  of  the  hills,  and,  when  we 
reached  Molaret,  a  group  of  little  dwellings  on  the 
hill-side,  we  were  in  a  clear  atmosphere,  and  the 
beautiful  plains  of  Italy  lay  outspread  beneath  us  in 
a  golden,  glowing  light.  What  a  contrast  to  the 
stern,  wild  scene  from  which  we  had  emerged,  was 
their  abundance,  habitancy,  warmth,  and  smiling 
loveliness.  Frangois  sprang  over  the  carriage  wheel, 
clapping  his  hands  and  shouting,  "  Voila  mon  pays!" 
There  were  tears  in  all  our  eyes  as  well  as  in  his, 
for  strong  emotion,  of  whatever  kind,  brings  them ; 
and  who  could  for  the  first  time  look  Italy  in  the 
face  without  emotion — beautiful,  beautiful  Italy ! 

Susa  appeared  quite  near  enough  for  us  to  have 
jumped  down  into  its  cheerful  streets ;  but  we  had 
still  ten  miles  of  this  most  gently-descending  road 
down  a  mountain  of  most  ungentle  steepness.  Think 
of  going  down  for  twenty-five  consecutive  miles ! 
but  we  are  down,  and  are  looking  up  at  the  mount- 
ain-walls which  God  has  set  around  this  fairest  of 
lands.  Susa  is  a  cheerful  little  town  in  the  midst 
of  vine-covered  and  broken  hills,  which  appear 
like  the  advanced  guard  of  the  Alps.  Villages 
and  solitary  dwellings  are  terraced  (K.  says  bur- 
rowed) on  the  steep  acclivities,  and  are  so  nearly 
of  the  colour  of  the  rocks  and  soil  that  they  are 


TURIN.  19 

scarcely  distinguishable  from  them;  and  positions 
seem  to  have  been  selected  for  the  churches  and 
monasteries  of  such  difficult  access,  as  to  give  the 
climbing  to  them  the  virtue  of  a  penance.  And, 
finally,  there  is  a  background  of  what  we  are  be- 
ginning to  think  an  indispensable  component  part  of  a 
finished  landscape,  summits  white  with  eternal  snows. 
On  one  side  of  our  inn  is  a  piazza,*  on  the  other  a 
river.  We  have  already  been  out  to  see  an  old  Ro- 
man arch ;  our  path  has  been  crossed  by  a  proces- 
sion of  priests;  we  have  been  beset  by  beggars; 
and  we  have  come  in  to  give  our  orders  to  a  came- 
riero  ;t  in  short,  we  are  in  Italy. 


Turin,  23. — We  arrived  here  last  evening,  and 
entered  the  town  by  a  magnificent  avenue.  Tu- 
rin is  a  very  cheerful  town,  with  some  80,000  in- 
habitants; a  gay  capital  rather,  for  it  is  the  capi- 
tal of  Piedmont,  and  was  anciently  of  Liguria.  You 
see  how,  on  the  very  threshold  of  Italy,  we  instinct- 
ively turn  from  what  is  to  what  was.  Turin  is 
said  to  have  grown  one  fifth  in  the  last  ten  years. 
This  singular  circumstance  in  Italian  history  is,  I 
believe,  OAving  to  the  fostering  care  and  presence  of 

*  Piazza  is  any  open  public  space  in  a  town  surrounded  with 
buildings.  I  know  no  English  word  that  answers  to  it.  "  Square" 
it  is  not,  for  it  is  of  every  conceivable  form  and  •*  without  form," 
but  never  "void." 

t  In  many  Italian  inns  the  services  of  the  chambermaid  are  per- 
formed by  men;  but  the  general  deference  to  English  customs  is 
doing  away,  on  the  travelled  routes,  with  this  annoyance. 


20  TURIN. 

Charles  Albert,  the  reigning  monarch,  styled  every- 
where in  Piedmont  "  the  munificent,"  but  better 
known  to  us  as  the  treacherous  Prince  of  Cario;nani. 
We  are  at  the  Hotel  de  I'Europe  Piazza  Castello  ; 
and  as  it  is  the  best  inn  and  best  position  in  the 
town,  you  may  like  to  know  precisely  our  condition 
in  it.  We  occupy  a  suite  of  apartments  on  the  sec- 
ond story.  Our  drawing-room  has  sofa-bedsteads, 
and  is  converted  into  a  bedroom  at  night ;  and  for 
these  rooms,  with  a  large  ante-room,  we  pay  twen- 
ty-four francs  a  day.  They  have  silk  hangings,  par- 
tition walls  at  least  four  feet  thick,  double  doors, 
floors  inlaid  of  different-coloured  woods,  and  painted 
ceilings  hung  with  paintings  and  exquisite  draw- 
ings of  broken  columns  and  old  friezes,  and  are  so 
richly  furnished  that  they  almost  put  my  eyes  out, 
after  our  wretched  Savoy  inns.  I  am  sitting  by 
a  window  open  on  to  a  balcony  that  overlooks  the 
piazza,  and  I  will  describe  it  to  you  as  it  is  at  this 
moment.  The  piazza  is  as  large  as  St.  John's  Park; 
opposite  to  us  is  the  king's  palace,  with  an  enclos- 
ure ;  on  our  right,  the  Palazzo  madama,  or  queen's 
palace ;  on  our  left,  the  opening  into  the  fine  street 
by  which  we  entered  the  town,  and  a  row  of  lofty 
houses,  with  an  arcade  to  the  lower  story.  Our 
hotel  forms  one  of  a  similar  range  on  this  side. 

Carriages  and  carts  are  crossing  and  recrossing, 
and  a  few  busy  people  seem  to  be  driving  forw^ard 
with  some  object  before  them  ;  but  these  are  ex- 
ceptions.    Here  is  a  little  company  of  Savoyard  mu- 


TURIN.  21 

sicians — I  know  them  by  their  costume* — a  woman, 
with  a  guitar,  singing  national  airs,  accompanied  by 
a  man  with  a  harp,  and  a  boy  with  a  viohn.  A 
ring  of  soldiers  gathers  round  them ;  loungers  drop 
in  on  all  sides;  'priests  and  peasants,  plenty  of 
priests.  There  may  be  three  or  four  hundred  per- 
sons in  the  ring.  There  comes  the  royal  carriage 
through  the  palace-gate ;  the  ring  breaks  ;  a  line  is 
formed,  and  all  hats  are  off.  A  juggler  enters  upon 
the  scene,  and  again  the  circle  forms.  There  goes 
a  procession  of  nuns,  with  their  superior  at  their 
head,  holding  aloft  a  black  cross.  Near  the  palazzo 
madama  stand  a  knot  of  Piedmontese  peasants; 
old  women,  with  WTinkles  ploughed  in  deep  furrows, 
and  white  caps  wired  up  into  a  sort  of  tower,  and 
loaded  with  an  unmeasurable  quantity  of  gay-col- 
oured ribands  and  artificial  flowers;  there  are  two 
very  pretty  young  peasant-girls  beside  them,  with  a 
sort  of  gipsy  hat,  with  low  crowns  and  immense 
brims,  and  a  bunch  of  flowers  one  side. 

Here  are  mendicant  friars,  with  long  beards, 
bare  heads,  gray  cloaks  tied  with  hempen  cords, 
and  sandals  on  their  otherwise  bare  feet.  The  king 
appears  on  horseback,  with  officers  attendant,  and 
servants  in  scarlet  livery,  and  again  the  ring  breaks 
and  all  hats  are  doffed. 

Now,  my  dear  C,  this  may  be  very  tiresome  to 
you,  since  I  cannot  make  it  vivid  to  your  mental,  as 

*  There  is  a  striking  variety  in  the  appearance  and  costume  of  the 
people  of  Turin.  Sardinia,  Savoy,  and  Genoa  are  included  in  the 
King  of  Piedmont's  dominions. 


22  TURIN. 

it  is  to  my  bodily  eye ;  but  to  me  it  seems  as  if  the 
world  had  indeed  turned  into  a  stage,  and  the  men 
and  women  into  players,  and  actors  of  some  poetic 
dream  of  my  youth.  And  as  I  have  set  down  just 
■what  I  have  seen,  and  nothing  that  I  have  not  seen 
since  I  sat  at  this  window,  as  it  is  not  a  festa-day, 
and  not  more  than  ten  o'clock  A.M.,  it  may  be  cu- 
rious to  you  to  compare  life  here  with  life  in  our 
working-day  world. 


We  have  just  returned  from  a  drive.  Turin  pleas- 
es us.  The  streets  are  as  regular  as  those  of  Phila- 
delphia; but  here  the  resemblance  ends,  as  these 
streets  sometimes  terminate  in  a  long  and  superb 
avenue,  and  sometimes  the  perspective  finishes  with 
a  church  or  a  palace.  The  houses  are  regular,  too, 
but  twice  as  high  as  ours  (don't  count  feet  and  inch- 
es against  me),  and  built  of  a  light  stone.  First  we 
went  to  a  new  bridge  over  the  Doria,  a  single  arch, 
and  reckoned  the  most  beautiful  bridge  of  its  kind 
in  the  world.  While  the  bridge  w^as  constructing, 
its  stability  was  doubted,  and  there  were  clamorous 
predictions  that  when  the  scaffolding  W'as  removed 
it  w^ould  fall.  When  it  was  finished,  the  architect 
placed  himself  under  the  centre  of  the  arch  and  or- 
dered the  supports  to  be  taken  away — cross  or 
crown — crown  it  proved !  We  then  went  to  the 
Church  of  the  Consolata  to  see  a  famous  silver  stat- 
ue of  the  Virgin,  made  to  commemorate  her  saving 
Turin  from  the  cholera  !     Most  wretched  beggars 


TURIN,  23 

followed  us  to  the  church-door ;  and  when  I  con- 
trasted its  silver  shrine  and  gorgeous  ornaments 
wuth  their  squalid  poverty,  I  remembered  the  apos- 
tolic charity,  "  Silver  and  gold  /  have  not,  but  such 
as  I  have  give  I  unto  you !" 

We  drove  through  the  new  quarter  of  the  town, 
where  there  are  fine  fresh  rows  of  houses,  and  a 
most  natural  home-odour  of  brick  and  mortar.  In 
short,  we  have  been  to  see  bridges,  statues,  church- 
es, a  botanic  garden,  a  museum  of  most  rare  Egyp- 
tian antiquities,  a  Pharaoh  (huge  enough  to  have 
eaten  up  the  Israelites),  an  effigy  which  Champol- 
lion  pronounced  to  be  contemporary  with  Abram ! 
And  we  have  been  to  the  Palazzo  raadama,  where 
strangers  are  admitted,  without  fee,  to  a  gallery  of 
very  fine  paintings ;  as  it  is  the  first  we  have  seen, 
please  give  me  due  credit  for  not  talking  very  learn- 
edly of  Carlo  Dolci's,  Guido's,  Murillo's,  &c. 
V  But  we  have  seen  something  here  that  will  prob- 
ably interest  you  more  than  all  the  pictures  in  Italy, 
Silvio  Pellico.  He  lives  near  Turin  as  librarian  to 
a  certain  marchesa.  We  wrote  him  a  note,  and 
asked  the  privilege  of  paying  our  respects  to  him, 
on  the  ground  of  being  able  to  give  him  news  of 
his  friends,  and  our  dear  friends,  the  exiles,  who 
were  his  companions  at  Spielberg.  He  came  imme- 
diately to  us.  He  is  of  low  stature  and  sHghtly 
made,  a  sort  of  etching  of  a  man,  with  delicate  and 
symmetrical  features,  just  enough  body  to  gravitate 
and  keep  the  spiiit  from  its  natural  upward  flight — 
a  more  shadowy  Dr.  Channmg !    His  manners  have 


24  TURIN." 

a  sweetness,  gentleness,  and  low  tone  that  cor- 
respond Avell  with  his  spiritual  appearance.  He 
was  gratified  with  our  good  tidings  of  his  friends, 
and  much  interested  wuth  our  account  of  his  god- 
child, Maroncelli's  little  Silvia.  His  parents  have 
died  within  a  year  or  two.  "  Dieu  m'a  fait  la 
grace,"  he  said, "  de  les  revoir  en  sortant  de  la  pris- 
on. Dieu  fait  tout  pour  notre  mieux ;  c'est  cette 
conviction  qui  m'a  soutenu  et  qui  me  soutient  en- 
core."* In  reply  to  his  saying  that  he  lived  a  life 
of  retirement,  and  had  few  acquaintances  in  Turin, 
we  told  him  that  he  had  friends  all  over  the  w^orld. 
"  That  proves,"  he  said,  "  that  there  are  everywhere 
'  belles  ames.'  "  His  looks,  his  manner,  his  voice, 
and  every  word  he  spoke,  were  in  harmony  with  his 
book,  certainly  one  of  the  most  remarkable  produc- 
tions of  our  day. 

I  have  been  very  sorry  to  hear  some  of  his  coun- 
trymen speak  distrustfully  of  Pellico,  and  express  an 
opinion,  a  reluctant  one,  that  he  had  sunken  into 
willing  subjection  to  political  despotism  and  priestly 
craft.  It  is  even  said  that  he  has  joined  the  order 
of  Jesuits.  I  do  not  believe  this,  nor  have  I  heard 
any  evidence  adduced  in  support  of  it  that  tends  to 
invalidate  the  proof  of  the  incorruptibility  of  Pellico's 
soul  contained  in  Le  mie  prigioni.  He  is  a  saint 
that  cannot  fall  from  grace.  There  seems  to  me  no- 
thing in  his  present  unqualified  submission  incora- 

*  *'  God  granted  me  the  mercy  of  seeing  my  parents  when  I  came 
out  of  prison.  God  orders  all  for  our  best  good.  It  is  this  conviction 
which  has  hitherto  supported  and  still  sustains  me." 


TURIN.  25 

patible  with  his  former  history  and  professions.  His 
phase  of  the  Christian  character  has  always  been 
that  of  suiferance.  He  is  the  gentle  Melancthon,  not 
the  bold  and  valiant  Luther  3  the  loving  John,  not 
the  fearless  Paul. 


Francois  is  a  Piedmontese,  and  has  now  returned 
to  his  country  for  the  first  time  after  pursuing  suc- 
cessfully his  courier  career  for  six  years.  He  went 
last  evening  to  see  his  family,  and  carried  them  a 
handful  of  Geneva  trinkets ;  and  this  morning,  after 
a  whole  night's  vigil  and  revel  with  them,  he 
brought  his  father  and  mother  to  see  us;  she  a 
buxom  stepdame,  wearing  a  cap  covered  with  red 
ribands,  and  artificial  flowers,  and  earrings,  and  a 
string  of  gold  l^eads  as  big  as  Lima  beans.  Good 
gold,  Frangois  assures  us  they  are,  and  that  these 
ornaments  are  the  most  esteemed  signs  of  the  peasant's 
wealth,  and  are  transmitted  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration. Happy  should  be  the  condition  of  the  peas- 
ant in  the  rich  spacious  plains  around  us. 

Turin  is  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps,  w^atered  by  the 
Po  and  the  Doria,  and  enriched  with  corn,  the  vine, 
and  the  mulberry.  The  Muscat  grape  grows  here  in 
the  greatest  perfection  and  abundance.  It  is  most 
delicious,  and  so  is  the  Asti  wine  made  from  it, 
which,  we  are  told,  is  too  delicate  for  transporta- 
tion. We  find  always,  in  a  rich  agricultural  coun- 
try, as  we  have  found  here,  excellent  bread  and 
butter.     They  make  bread  in  a  form  which  they 

Vol.  IL— C 


26  VERGE  IL. 

call  grisane,  a  sort  of  bread-canes  or  fagots.  Bun- 
dles of  them  are  placed  at  the  head  and  foot  of  the 
table.  The  dwellers  in  the  poor,  cold  valley  of 
Lanslebourg  bring  all  their  wheaten  bread  from 
Chambery,  not  less  than  eighty  miles,  and  we  paid 
for  our  fare  accordingly. 


We  passed  our  first  night  after  leaving  Turin  at 
Cigliano,  a  considerable  place  on  a  great  route.  To 
give  you  an  idea  of  what  an  Italian  inn  is,  which 
English  travel  has  not  yet  remodelled,  I  will  set 
down  our  breakfast  service:  tumblers  for  teacups, 
a  tureen  and  ladle  for  boiled  milk,  and  a  pudding- 
dish  for  a  slop-bowl ! 

We  lunched  at  Verceil  the  second  day,  a  place 
that  I  remember  figures  on  the  scene  in  Sismondi's 
Italian  Republics,  and  which  occupies  half  a  page  in 
our  guide-book,  setting  forth  churches,  chapels,  and 
pictures  to  be  seen,  and  how  Marius  gained  a  victory 
under  its  walls,  and  how  Nero  built  a  temple  here. 
To  us  it  appeared  a  most  disagreeable  place ;  and,  if  I 
built  anything,  it  would  be  an  altar  with  an  ex  voto 
representing  our  carriage  driving  out  of  it.  We 
went  to  the  market-place,  w^hich  was  filled  with  ugly 
old  women  sitting  behind  stacks — Alps  of  apricots, 
pears,  grapes,  pomegranates,  and  most  splendid 
peaches,  but  neither  soft  nor  flavorous.  I  have  eaten 
but  one  peach  since  I  came  to  Europe  that  would 
be  thought  above  par  in  New- York  or  Philadelphia  ! 
The  market-place  in  Verceil  was  filled  with  idle 


V  E  R  C  fi  1 1.  27 

mfeh,  who  collected  about  us  and  stared  so  unmerci- 
fully at  the  girls  that  they  clung  to  me,  and  I  felt, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  rather  Duenna-ish,  and 
glad  enough  to  get  back  to  the  hotel.  Accustomed 
as  we  have  been  to  the  quiet  ways  of  going  on  in 
Germany  and  Switzerland,  where  we  felt  as  much 
freedom  as  in  our  own  country,  it  is  very  annoying 
to  be  cut  oif  at  once  from  the  free  use  and  enjoy- 
ment of  our  faculties.  Young  women  cannot  walk 
out  here  without  a  male  attendant,  or  a  woman 
pretty  well  stricken  in  years. 

Bacicia,  who  ordinarily  is  no  dawdler,  dawdled 
at  the  Verceil  inn  till  we  were  out  of  patience.  His 
delay  was  explained  when  we  found  the  bridge 
which  crosses  the  Sesia,  a  mile  from  the  town,  was 
impassable  for  the  carriage ;  there  was  a  ferry-boat, 
but  our  way  was  obstructed  by  great  numbers  of 
carts  and  carriages,  which  had  precedence  of  us. 
Bacicia  knew  it  was  market-day,  and  had  foreseen 
this  exigency,  and  calculated  that  we  should  be 
driven  back  to  Verceil  by  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
and  thus  he  should  gain  twenty  francs,  and  a  day's 
rest  for  his  horses.  Franqois'  imagination  conjured 
up  robbers  pouring  in  with  the  fast-coming  night 
from  Turin,  Milan,  and  Genoa,  but  our  Yankee  wit 
was  not  to  be  outwitted  by  our  tricky  voiturier,  nor 
our  resolution  vanquished  by  a  courier's  staple  alarms; 
so  we  seated  ourselves  on  the  bridge,  and  watched  the 
progress  of  the  miserable  little  boat,  which  occupied 
twenty-five  minutes  in  loading,  crossing,  unloading, 
reloading,  and  recrossing.     It  had  five  passages  to 

C2 


28  JOURNEY     TO    MILAN. 

make  before  our  turn  came.  We  tried  in  vain  to  buy 
a  precedence,  which  the  poor  market-people  would 
gladly  have  sold  us,  but  the  superintending  gens 
d'armes  forbade  this  traffic.  In  the  mean  time,  up 
drove  a  coach  with  post-horses,  and  went  before  us 
all.  "  Ah,"  said  Francois,  who  was  walking  up  and 
down  in  a  brigand  fever, "  les  gouvernments  sont  tous 
des  voleurs  !"  The  sun  was  just  sinking  as  we  got 
into  our  carriage,  and  we  had  yet  fifteen  miles  to 
travel ;  but  the  moon  rose  upon  us,  and,  though  Fran- 
cois once  persuaded  us  to  stop  and  look  at  some 
bed-rooms  in  a  filthy  inn,  we  came  on  to  Navarro, 
our  appointed  sleeping-place,  cheerfully  and  safely. 
The  truth  is,  there  is  very  little  danger  of  meeting 
"  gentlemen  of  the  road"  at  the  present  time  on  the 
great  routes  of  Italy.  The  governments  are  vigilant, 
and  their  licensed  robbers  are  too  strong  for  volun- 
teer companies.  Poor  Francois'  fears  were  genuine 
and  inherited.  His  mother  actually  died  of  the  con- 
sequences of  fright  from  an  attack  of  highwaymen  a 
,  few  days  before  his  birth. 


We  crossed  the  Ticino,  ten  miles  from  Navarro, 
on  a  massive  granite-bridge,  and  there  entered  the 
Lombardo-Venitian  kingdom,  and  at  the  little  town 
of  BufFalero  our  carriage  was  taken  possession  of 
by  Austrian  soldiers,  ready  to  do  the  courteous  hon- 
ours of  welcome  which  their  imperial  master  ap- 
points to  strangers.  As  we  were  not  Quixotic 
enough  to  attempt  to  reform  the  code  of  national 


JOURNEY    TO     MILAN.  29 

morals,  we  directed  Francois  to  pay  the  customary- 
fee  to  save  our  imperials  from  a  ransacking,  and  to 
get  the  necessary  certificate  that  they  were  filled 
with  honest  gowns,  skirts,  &c.  What  a  disgrace  to 
civilized  Europe  are  these  annoying  delays  and  pet- 
ty robberies  !*  Thank  Heaven,  we  have  passed  our 
lives  exempt  from  them,  as  we  are  often  reminded 
by  Fran9ois'  exclamation,  "  Que  votre  pays  est  heu- 
reux  ;  ah,  c'est  le  pays  de  la  jolie  liberte"  ("  Yours 
is  a  happy  country ;  the  country  of  liberty  !") 

The  country  between  Turin  and  Milan  is  fertile 
beyond  description.  You  have  often  heard,  my 
dear  C,  of  the  rich  plains  of  Lombardy,  watered 
by  rivers  and  intersected  with  canals ;  but  you  can 
hardly  imagine  the  perfection  of  its  husbandry.  The 
corn  is  now  six — eight  inches  high,  and  the  ground 
as  green  as  ours  in  June,  and  we  have  reached,  re- 
member, the  twenty-sixth  of  October  !  The  road  is 
bordered  with  mulberry -trees.  The  country  is  too 
level  for  picturesque  beauty,  and  it  has  not  the 
hio^hest  charm  of  aoricultural  life.  There  are  no 
signs  of  rural  cheerfulness;  no  look  of  habitancy. 
The  cultivators  live  in  compact,  dirty  little  villa- 
ges. The  very  few  country-houses  are  surrounded 
with  high  walls,  with  their  lower  ^vindows  grated ; 

*  The  Italians  suffer  more  from  police  regulations  than  strangers. 
A  Milanese  lady,  whose  husband  has  a  large  patrimonial  estate  in 
Piedmont,  told  me  they  had  given  up  going  to  it  on  account  of  the 
indignities  she  was  obliged  to  suffer  at  Buffalero,  the  frontier,  where 
a  room  and  female  officers  are  appointed  to  undress  and  search  Ital- 
ian ladies.  The  travel  in  our  country  would  be  somewhat  diminish- 
ed if  we  had  such  regulations  on  the  fiontiers  of  Pennsylvania  and 
New- York,  or  Massachusetts. 

C2 


30  MILAN. 

even  the  barn  windows  have  this  jail-like  provision. 
What  a  state  of  morals  and  government  does  this 
suggest !  what  a  contrast  to  rural  life  in  England  ! 
what  comparisons  to  the  condition  of  things  in  our 
little  village  of  S.,  where  a  certain  friend  of  ours 
fastens  her  outer-door  with  a  carving-knife,  leaving 
all  her  plate  unlocked  in  a  pantry  hard  by,  and  only 
puts  in  a  second  knife  when  she  hears  that  a  thief 
has  been  marauding  some  fifty  miles  off.  "  Oh,  pays 
heureux !"  Fran9ois  mav  well  exclaim,  and  we 
repeat. 


Milan,  27. — Thanks  to  all  our  friends,  dear  C, 
for  the  half  bushel  of  letters  we  have  received  here 
after  a  month's  fasting,  and  five  days  less  than  a 
month  old !  Francois  brought  us  from  the  postoffice 
forty  francs  worth — forty  !  forty  thousand.  We 
may  shrink  from  other  expenses,  but  letters  are  an 
indispensable  luxury — at  this  distance  from  you 
all,  a  necessary  of  life.  What  a  pleasant  even- 
ing's reading  we  had,  here  a  tear  dropping,  and 
there  a  laugh  bursting  forth.  Home-voices  rung  in 
our  ears,  home-faces  smiled  ;  we  were  at  S.  and  L. ; 
and  I  think  I  shall  never  forget  the  shock  and  con- 
fusion in  our  ideas  when  the  door  opened  for  an  in- 
quiry about  the  "  lampa  di  notfeJ'  We  were  disen- 
chanted ;  the  hills  and  valleys  of  Berkshire  vanished, 
and  here  we  were  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  in  a  lofty 
apartment,  with  painted  ceilings,  pictures  of  Vesu- 
vius, and  a  plaster-stove  surmounted  with  a  statue  I 


MILAN.  31 

Yes,  dear  C,  we  are  in  Milan,  once  the  illustrious 
capital  of  Cisalpine  Gaul,  and  still  more  illustrious 
as  the  metropolis  of  Lombardy  and  queen  of  the 
northern  Italian  republics  in  the  glorious  days  of 
their  successful  struggles  against  the  Frederics  and 
the  Henrys  of  Germany  ;  and,  as  Ave  think  with  our 
Democratic  principles,  yet  more  glorious  for  the  re- 
sistance of  the  people  to  the  nobles.*  Images  of 
ecclesiastical  pomp  and  power,  of  military  occu- 
pancy, and  processions ;  of  the  exit  and  return  of  the 
Caroccio — the  Lombard  Ark  of  the  Covenant — of 
art,  industry,  and  riches,  throng  upon  us.  But,  as 
you  know,  dear  C,  it  is  nothing  so  far  gone  and  im- 
personal as  its  history,  that  makes  Milan  the  sacred 
shrine  it  is  in  our  pilgrimage.  Here  is  the  memory 
of  our  friends.  This  was  the  scene  of  their  high 
aspirations  and  their  keen  disappointments,  perhaps 
of  their  keenest  suffering.  Here  they  sowed  in  tears 
what  I  trust  those  who  come  after  them  will  reap 
in  joy.  t 

*  The  rising  of  the  people  of  Milan  in  the  eleventh  century  upon 
the  nobles,  and  the  deadly  war  they  made  upon  them  in  their  fortified 
castles  within  the  walls  of  the  city,  till  they  drove  them  forth  in  or- 
der to  revenge  the  insult  done  to  one  of  their  body  whom  a  noble 
struck  with  his  cane  in  midday  in  the  open  street,  is  an  evidence  of 
the  spirit  of  equal  rights  hardly  surpassed  in  our  Democratic  age. 

t  The  persons  here  alluded  to  are  the  Italian  gentlemen  concerned 
in  the  affair  of  1821,  at  the  head  of  whom  stood  the  distinguished 
Milanese,  Count  Confalioneri,  styled  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh 
"  Italy's  noblest  son."  These  gentlemen,  after  seventeen  years  im- 
prisonment and  the  horrors  of  Spielberg  (which  have  been  partially 
exposed  by  Pellico,  Maroncelli,  and  Andreani),  were  exiled  to  Amer- 
ica, where  circumstances  threw  them  into  intimate  intercourse  with 
my  family.    I  could  wish  that  those  who  ignorantly  think  lightly 


\y 


32  MILAN. 

We  have  been  disappointed  to  find  that  most  of 
the  persons  to  whom  our  letters  are  addressed  are 
still  at  their  villas.  We  have  sent  them,  however, 
notwithstanding  we  hear  that  an  American  gentle- 
man who  brought  a  letter  from  one  of  our  exile- 
friends,  was  ordered  by  the  police  to  leave  Milan 
within  twelve  hours.  A  caravan  consisting  of  one 
invaUd  gentleman  and  five  obscure  womankind  can 
scarcely  awaken  the  jealousy  even  of  an  Austrian 
police. 


The  friends  of  our  friends  have  come  in  from  their 
country  residences  to  honour  the  letters  addressed  to 
them,  and  have  received  us  with  unmeasured  cordi- 
ality. It  is  cold,  Novemberish,  and  raining,  as  it  has 
been  for  the  last  ten  days ;  but,  in  spite  of  it,  we  have 
had  a  very  agreeable  drive  about  the  city  with  the 
brothers  C — a.  The  streets  are  labyrinthian,  and 
are  just  now  looking  dull  and  dingy  enough.  The 
gay  people  have  not  yet  returned  from  their  summer 
retreats,  and  of  the  140,000  inhabitants  of  Milan  we 
see  only  bourgeois,  soldiers,  priests,  and  women  in 

and  speak  disparagingly  of  "Italians"  could  know  these  men,  who 
have  resisted  and  overcome  seventeen  years  of  trials  and  tempt- 
ations such  as  human  nature  has  rarely  been  subjected  to.  We 
honour  our  fathers  for  the  few  years  of  difficulty  through  which 
they  struggled ;  and  can  we  refuse  our  homage  to  these  men,  who 
sacrificed  everything,  and  forever,  that  man  holds  most  dear,  to 
the  sacred  cause  of  freedom  and  truth?  and,  let  me  ask,  what  should 
we  in  reason  infer  of  the  nation  whence  they  came  1  surely  that  thete 
are  mariy  ready  "  tOjgo.and  do. likewise." 


MILAN.  33 

veils  (instead  of  bonnets)  pattering  to  mass.  The 
streets  are  paved  with  small  round  stones,  with  a 
double  wheel -track  of  granite  brought  from  the 
shores  of  Maggiore  and  Como,  the  blocks  so  nicely 
joined  that  the  wheels  roll  as  smoothly  and  almost 
as  rapidly  as  over  rails,  and  they  are  so  granulated 
that  there  is  no  danger  of  the  horse  slipping.  The 
houses  are  large ;  you  might  turn  half  a  dozen  of 
ours  into  one  of  them ;  and  the  palaces  magnificent, 
as  you  may  imagine  from  our  mistaking  La  Casa 
Saporetti  for  La  Scala,  which  we  had  been  forewarn- 
ed was  the  largest  opera-house  in  Europe. 

We  drove  to  the  Arch  of  Peace,  the  fit  termination 
for  his  Simplon  road,  and  adornment  of  his  Cisalpine 
republic,  projected  by  Napoleon,  but  not  finished  till 
within  the  last  few  months.  The  work  was  begun 
in  1807,  and  the  first  artists  were  employed  on 
statues  and  bas-reliefs  intended  to  illustrate  the 
most  brilliant  events  of  Napoleon's  life.  When  the 
"work  was  finished  his  power  and  life  had  ended; 
and  art,  too  often  the  passive  slave  of  tyrants,  was 
compelled  to  sacrifice  truth  and  beauty,  to  desecrate 
its  own  Vv^ork,  by  cutting  off  Napoleon's  head  (that 
noble  head  made  to  be  eternized  in  marble),  and 
substituting  in  its  place  the  imbecile  head  and  mean 
features  of  the  Emperor  Francis.  And  poor  Joseph- 
ine, who  had  no  tendencies  to  such  an  apotheosis,  is 
transformed  into  the  cold  Goddess  of  Wisdom,  and 
wears  Minerva's  casque.  Illustrations  of  Napoleon's 
victories,  and  the  great  political  eras  of  his  life,  are 
made  sometimes,  by  the  mere  substitution  of  names, 


34  MILAN. 

to  stand  for  epochs  in  Austrian  history,  with  what 
veri-similitude  you  may  imagine.  Where  this  spe- 
cies of  travesty  was  impossible,  new  blocks  of  marble 
have  been  substituted,  which  may  be  detected  by  the 
difference  of  shade.  The  structure  is  seventy-five 
feet  in  height  and  seventy-three  feet  in  breadth. 
The  columns,  which  are  extremely  beautiful,  are  thir- 
ty-eight and  a  half  feet  high.  The  arch  is  sur- 
mounted by  a  figure  of  Victory  with  four  horses  at-, 
tached  to  a  car  in  full  career.  The  details  are  elab- 
orate and  highly  finished,  and  the  whole  gave  me 
some  idea  of  what  Italy  must  have  been  in  the  days 
of  the  Romans,  when  their  monuments  were  fresh 
and  unimpaired,  and  of  the  dazzling  whiteness  of 
this. 

In  entering  the  city  from  the  Simplon  road  through 
this  arch,  you  come  upon  a  very  noble  flace  [piazza 
d^armi),  where  the  soldiers  are  exercised.  We 
crossed  this  to  an  amphitheatre  built  by  Napoleon, 
and  first  opened  for  a  fete  after  the  peace  of  Tilsit. 
It  was  designed  for  feats  of  arms  and  equestrian  ex- 
ercises. It  is  of  an  elliptical  form,  and  surrounded 
by  tiers  of  seats,  where  30,000  people  may  be  seat- 
ed— they  are  nov/  grass-grown ! 

We  next  visited  the  Brera,  formerly  a  college  of 
the  Jesuits,  but  now  secularized  and  liberalized  by  a 
consecration  to  the  arts  and  sciences.  We  did  not 
take  any  portion  of  our  brief  time  to  walk  through 
the  library  and  look  at  the  outsides  of  the  100,000 
volumes  there.  Once  up  the  staircase  where,  on  the 
landing-places,  are  the  statues  of  Parini,  Monti,  and 


MILAN.  35 

Beccaria,  we  spent  all  our  time  in  the  gallery  enjoy- 
ing its  priceless  pictures.  I  first  sought  out  Guerci- 
no's  "  sending  away  Hagar,"  and,  once  found,  it  is 
difficult  to  leave  it.  The  colouring  and  composi- 
tion is,  as  it  should  always  be,  made  subservient  to 
the  moral  effect — the  outer  reveals  the  inner  man. 
In  Abraham,  the  Jewish  patriarch,  the  head  of  the 
chosen  people,  you  see  the  patriot  triumphing  over 
the  father  and  lover ;  Hagar,  with  her  face  steeped 
in  tears,  is  the  loving  girl  urging  the  claim  of  true 
and  tender  passion  against  what  seems  to  her  an  in- 
credible sentence ;  Sara  is  the  very  personification 
of  "  legal  rights  ;"  and  the  poor  little  boy,  burying 
his  face  in  his  mother's  gown,  is  the  ruined  favourite. 

We  were  shown  in  an  obscure  apartment  a  su- 
perb bronze  statue  of  Napoleon  by  Canova  ;  a  grand 
work,  but  strangely  failing  in  resemblance.  Till 
within  two  years,  the  Austrians  have  kept  it  hidden 
in  a  cellar — buried  alive.  One  cannot  but  smile  at 
their  terror  at  Napoleon's  mere  effigy. 

As  we  were  passing  through  one  of  the  rooms,  C. 
C — a  pointed  to  the  bust  of  the  Emperor  Francis 
with  an  inscription,  in  which  he  is  called  "  our  fa- 
ther." "  Our  father  ,'"  he  repeated  ;  "  Gaetano's 
and  mine !"  His  emphasis  recalled  their  reasons 
for  a  filial  sentiment,  C.  having  been  imprisoned 
by  the  "  good  Francis"  three  years,  and  his  brother 
seventeen  !  While  we  were  driving,  the  gentlemen 
pointed  out  to  us  the  cannon,  kept  always  loaded, 
guarded,  and  pointed  against  the  town — against  the 
homes  of  its  citizens  ! 


36  M  I  L  A  N. 

We  saw  in  the  refectory  of  the  old  monastery  of 
S.  Marie  delle  Grazie  one  of  the  world's  wonders, 
Leonardo  da  Vinci's  "  Last  Supper,"  painted  on  the 
wall,  and  now  in  parts  so  faded  as  to  be  nearly  ob- 
literated. Time  and  the  elements  have  not  been  its 
worst  enemies.  The  wall  was  whitewashed,  and  a 
door  cut  through  it  by  a  decree  of  the  chapter,  that 
the  monks  might  have  their  dinner  served  hot  from 
the  adjoining  kitchen.  To  complete  the  desecration, 
the  door  was  cut  through  the  figure  of  our  Saviour. 
Would  it  not  be  a  Uantesque  punishment  for  these 
brutish  epicures  to  be  condemned  to  a  purgatorio 
where*  they  should  forever  enact  "  wall  and  moon- 
shine,'^ and  eat  only  cold  dinners  ? 

Leonardo,  like  other  people  who  have  too  many 
irons  in  the  fire  (for  he  was  painter,  sculptor,  archi- 
tect, and  author),  let  some  of  them  grow  cold;  he 
w^as  so  long  about  this  picture  that  the  Prior  of  the 
convent  reproached  him  bitterly,  and  he  took  his  re- 
venge by  making  Judas'  head  a  fac-simile  of  the 
Prior's.  Vasari  has  recorded  Leonardo's  reply  to 
the  Prior's  complaint,  which  strikes  us  as  rather 
bold,  considering  the  relative  position  of  the  parties. 
"  O  se  forse  nol  troverb,  io  vi  porro  quello  di  questo 
padre  Priore  che  ora  me  si  molesta,  che  maraviglio- 
samente  gli  se  confara"  ("  Or  if,  perchance,  I  do 
not  find  it  (the  face  of  Judas),  I  will  put  in  that  of 
the  Father  Prior  who  is  tormenting  me ;  it  will  suit 
wonderfully  well  !"*)     The  engravings  of  this  pic- 

*  The  painter  may  inflict  a  severer  punishment  by  putting  on  a 
head  than  the  executioner  by  taking  one  off.    Who  can  ever  forget 


M  I  L  A  N.  37 

ture  give  you  a  better  idea  of  most  of  the  heads 
than  the  original  now  does,  and  of  the  movement  of 
the  disciples  when  that  declaration  struck  on  their 
hearts :  "  Behold,  the  hand  of  hirn  that  betray- 
eth  me  is  with  me  on  the  table !"  but  no  copy  that 
I  have  seen  has  approached  this  face  of  Jesus,  so 
holy,  calm,  and  beautiful ;  it  is  "  God  manifest  in 
the  flesh ;"  you  are  ready  to  exclaim  with  Peter, 
"though  I  die  with  thee,  yet  will  I  never  betray 
thee !"  And  yet  it  is  said  the  painter  left  it  unfinished, 
alleging  that  he  could  never  express  his  conceptions 
of  the  character  of  Jesus  ! 


By  way  of  a  divertimento  nazionale,  we  have  just 
had  two  men  in  our  drawing-room  exhibitino-  a  cru- 
cifix  which  their  grandfather  cut  out  of  wood  fifty 
years  ago ;  he  must  have  been,  I  fancy,  fifty  years 
cutting  it.  There  are  2000  figures  on  it,  and  an 
infinity  of  ornamental  details  illustrating  the  history 
of  Christ.  "  You  don't  believe  a  word  of  that  story 
of  the  crucifixion  I"  said  Frangois  aside  to  me. 
This  is  an  unbelieving  Catholic's  notion  of  a  Prot- 
estant's faith.  When  the  men,  to  exalt  our  ideas  of 
the  privilege  we  were  enjoying,  said  we  were  the 
first  to  whom  the  thing  had  been  shown,  Francois 
whispered,  "  They  have  been  showing  it  these  five 
years ;  the  Italians  are  all  liars  I"  Belief  or  unbe- 
lief in  God  and  man  go  together. 

the  '« man  of  sin"  (Pope  Urban  VIII.)  whom  Guide's  Archangel  Mi- 
chael is  transfixing  with  his  spear  ? 

Vol.  II.— D 


38  MILAN. 

Madame  S.  has  been  to  see  us.  She  is  a  fra- 
gile-looking little  creature,  and,  though  now  a  grand- 
mother, as  shy  as  a  timid  girl  of  thirteen.  There 
is  a  tender  solemnity  in  her  voice  and  manner 
that  constantly  reminded  me  of  Spielberg  and  of 
^  C — a,  though  she  spoke  little  of  him,  and  when 
she  did,  turned  away  her  face  to  hide  an  emotion 
perceptible  enough  in  the  pressure  of  her  delicate 
little  hand,  which  is  not  very  much  bigger  or  stronger 
than  a  canary's  claw.  I  wish  those  who  confound 
all  Italian  women  in  one  condemnation  could  know 
as  we  know  the  character  of  this  good  wife,  devoted 
mother,  and  martyr-sister. 


We  went  last  evening,  escorted  by  J.  C — a,  to 
La  Scala.  It  is  built,  as  are  the  other  nine  theatres 
of  Milan,  on  the  ruins  of  a  church. 

Gens  d'armes,  tall,  muscular  young  men,  were  sta- 
tioned at  the  entrance  of  the  house,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  on  the  landing-places,  and  in  the  lobbies,  look- 
ing, with  their  swords  and  high  furred  caps,  rather 
frightful  to  us,  who  have  a  sort  of  hydrophobic  dread 
of  an  Austrian  police.  J.  C — a  took  us  up  four  flights 
of  stairs,  to  "  I'ordre  cinquieme,"  that  we  might  have 
a  coup  d'oeil  of  the  whole  theatre.  This  fifth  row 
bears  no  resemblance  to  our  galleries  or  to  those 
of  the  English  theatres.  The  box  we  entered  was 
one  of  several  called  "loges  de  societe."  They 
are  fitted  up  as  saloons  for  clubs  of  gentlemen,  with 


MILAN.  39 

carpets,  tables,  and  sofas,  and  are  well  lighted.     The 
effect  of  the  theatre  from  this  height  is,  or  would  be, 
magnificent  when  they  have  an  "  illuminazione  a 
giorni"  (a  daylight  illumination).     Ordinarily  the 
blaze  of  light  is  reserved  for  the  stage ;  the  audi- 
ence is  in  comparative  obscurity,  and,  consequently, 
though  La  Scala  is  perhaps  twice  as  large  as  the 
opera-house  in  London,  its  effect  is  by  no  means  so 
brilliant  as  that  where  the  light  is  diffused  and  re- 
flected by  richly-dressed  people.     Here  we  could 
only  imperfectly  discern,  now  a  matron's  cap,  and 
then  a  young  lady's  coeffure,  as  they  peeped  from 
behind  the  silk  curtains  of  their  boxes.     The  six 
rows  of  boxes  are  curtained  with  light  silk  border- 
ed with  crimson.     The  front  box  is  the  emperor's. 
It  occupies  both  the  second  and  third  rows,  and  is 
as  large  as  a  small  drawing-room,  and  is,  of  course, 
royally  fitted  up  with  damask  hangings,  and  has  a 
gilded  crown   suspended  over  it.     The  theatre  is 
the  great  rendezvous  of  Milanese  society.     The  la- 
dies receive  in  their  boxes  instead  of  at  home,  and, 
being  constructed  with  reference  to  this  custom,  they 
are  deep  and  narrow.     Not  more  than  two  persons 
can  occupy  a  front  seat.     Between  the  seats  in  the 
pit  and  the  front  boxes  there  is  a  wide  space  left 
for  the  gentlemen  to  promenade. 

The  music  is  a  secondary  object,  holding  the  same 
place  it  does  in  a  drawing-room.  A  favourite  air 
or  a  favourite  performer  arrests  attention  for  a  few 
moments,  but,  as  far  as  I  have  observed,  even  the 
musical  Italian  is  not  exempt  from  the  common  in- 


40  MILAN. 

firmity  of  preferring  the  sound  of  his  own  voice 
to  another's,  though  his  be  not  attuned  to  heavenly 
harmony. 

There  was  the  abashing  effrontery  in  staring  which, 
"when  occurring  in  the  street,  I  have  imputed  to  it  be- 
ing rather  a  phenomenon  to  see  young  ladies  walk- 
ing about  as  our  girls  do.  But  the  gaze  of  men 
lounging  before  our  box,  and  sometimes  planting 
their  eyeglasses  and  reconnoitring  for  the  space  of 
two  or  three  minutes,  compared  with  the  respect  with 
which  our  women  at  home  are  treated,  indicates 
rather  strongly  their  relative  position  in  the  two 
countries. 

After  having  heard  Grisi,  Persiana,  Rubini,  La 
Blache,  &C.5  the  singing  here  was  no  great  affair. 
The  Italians  can  no  longer  afford  to  pay  their  best 
singers.  The  presence  of  art  and  the  result  of  study 
are  striking  in  the  stage-management.  The  opera, 
with  all  its  accessories,  is  the  study  of  this  nation, 
as  "  finlancial  systems"  are  the  study  of  England  and 
the  United  States. 

During  the  ballet,  which,  by-the-way,  is  interject- 
ed betw^een  the  acts  of  the  opera,  much  to  the  dis- 
turbance of  its  effect,  there  was  a  corps  of  between 
forty  and  fifty  dancing-girls  on  the  stage  at  the 
same  moment,  not  perceptibly  varying  in  height. 
These  children  are  trained  for  the  ballet  at  a  school 
supported  by  the  government — for  the  ballet,  and 
for  what  besides  ?  This  should  be  a  fearful  question 
to  those  who  must  answer  it.  It  would,  I  should 
hope,  cure  our  people's  mad  enthusiasm  for  opera- 


MILAN.  41 

dancers  to  witness  the  exhibition  of  these  poor 
young  things.  I  felt  sorry  for  our  dear  girls,  and 
mortified  for  myself,  that  we  were  present  at  such  ob- 
scenity. I  cannot  call  it  by  a  more  compromising 
name. 

There  were  500  persons  on  the  stage  at  one  time, 
among  them  200  soldiers  belonging  to  the  Austrian 
army.  The  emperor  pays  a  large  sum  annually  to 
support  the  opera  at  La  Scala,  considering  it  an  ef- 
ficient instrument  for  tranquiUizing  the  political  pulse 
of  Italy.  No  wonder  that  sirens  must  be  employed 
to  sing  lullabies  to  those  who  have  a  master's  canon 
pointed  at  their  homes.  Among  other  proofs  which 
the  emperor  has  that  the  love  of  freedom  (that  Di- 
vine and  inextinguishable  essence)  is  at  work  in  the 
hearts  of  the  Milanese,  is  the  fact  that  no  Italian 
lady  receives  an  Austrian  officer  in  her  box  with  im- 
punity. It  matters  not  what  rank  he  holds ;  if  she 
receives  him  she  is  put  into  Coventry  by  her  coun- 
trymen. Is  there  not  hope  of  a  people  who,  while 
their  chains  are  clanking,  dare  thus  openly  to  dis- 
dain their  masters  7* 

*  It  is  true,  we  see  no  rational  prospect  of  freedom  for  Italy. 
Overshadowed  as  it  is  by  Austrian  despotism,  and  overpowered  by 
the  presence  of  her  immense  mihtary  force,  and,  what  is  still  worse, 
broken  into  small  and  hostile  states  without  one  federative  principle 
or  feeling.  But  we  cannot  despair  of  a  people  who,  like  the  Milanese, 
show  that  they  have  inherited  the  spirit  of  their  fathers  ;  a  spirit  so 
heroically  expressed  in  the  twelfth  century,  when  Frederic  had  sep- 
arated their  allies  from  them,  ravaged  their  territory,  exhausted  their 
treasure,  and  killed  off  their  bravest  soldiers.  "  We  are  feeble,  for- 
saken, and  crushed,"  they  said  ;  "  be  it  so :  it  does  not  belong  to  us  to 
vanquish  fortune,  but  to  our  country  we  devote  our  remaining  pos- 
sessions, the  strength  still  left  in  our  arms,  and  the  blood  yet  boiling 

D2 


42  MILAN. 

The  two  counts,  the  brothers  C — i,  have  just  been 
to  see  us,  and  expressed  their  eagerness  to  honour 
Confalonieri's  letter.  The  elder  C.  is  Podesta  of  the 
city,  an  office  that  has  fallen  from  its  original  poten- 
tiality to  a  mere  mayoralty ;  but  still,  as  its  gift  is  a 
proof  of  Austrian  favour,  its  incumbent  will  proba- 
bly be  discreetly  shy  of  the  friends  of  the  exiles. 
But,  apart  from  this  policy,  we  have  little  reason  to 
expect  hospitality.  The  Italians  have  no  fellowship 
with  the  English,  and  into  that  category  we  fall. 
The  habits  and  modes  of  society  in  the  two  countries 
are  so  different  that  there  can  be  but  little  pleasure 
in  their  social  intercourse.  The  English  gentleman 
in  England  invites  his  Italian  acquaintance  to  his 
home ;  he  comes  here,  and  is  offered  the  entree  of  the 
Italian's  loge.  He  is  offended  and  cold,  and  there 
their  intercourse  ends.  After  the  gentlemen  left  us, 
R.  asked  K.,  who  had  been  talking  with  C — i,  "  how 
she  liked  him."  "  Very  much  :  he  is  not  only  aware 
that  rice  does  not  grow  in  New-England,  and  that 
the  Ohio  does  not  empty  into  the  Atlantic,  but  he 
seems  as  familiar  with  the  topography  of  our  coun- 
try as  if  he  had  lived  there."  The  count  is  a  man 
of  the  world,  and  understands  the  most  delicate 
mode  of  flattery. 

in  our  veins.  They  were  given  to  us  to  resist  despotism,  and,  before 
submitting,  we  will  wait,  not  till  the  hope  of  conquering  is  lost— that 
it  has  long  been — but  till  no  means  of  resistance  remain  1" — Histmre 
des  Republiques  Italiennes. 

Is  there  a  nobler  declaration  of  a  love  of  freedom  on  record  than 
this  l 


MILAN.  43 

JSTov,  4.— -This  is  the  greatest  of  all  Milan's  fete- 
days— the  fete  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo.  The  cere- 
monies were  in  the  Duomo,  and  the  Podesta  obtain- 
ed us  places  in  a  "  correto,"  one  of  the  little  galler- 
ies sometimes  used,  I  believe,  for  the  display  of  rel- 
ics :  and,  to  crown  all,  we  had  the  advantage  of 
Count  C.'s  escort. 

The  Duomo,  which,  you  know,  is  the  great  Ca- 
thedral of  Milan,  and  esteemed  the  second  church 
in  Italy,  strikes  a  Protestant  stranger  at  this  time  as 
a  temple  consecrated  to  St.  Charles  as  its  divinity. 
Illustrations  of  his  life,  for  the  most  part  indifferent- 
ly painted,  are  hanging  between  its  hundred  and 
sixty  marble  columns.  Directly  under  the  dome,  in 
the  crypt,  there  is  a  chapel,  where  the  saint's  mortal 
remains,  decorated  with  rich  jewels,  are  preserved 
in  a  crystal  sarcophagus  overlaid  wath  silver,  with- 
out (as  I  am  told)  having  undergone  any  very  fright- 
ful change.  I  did  not  look  within.  I  do  not  hke 
to  see  the  image  of  God  mummied.  The  altar  of 
this  little  chapel,  in  w'hich  silver  lamps  are  always 
burning,  is  of  solid  silver.  The  w^alls  are  hung 
with  tapestry  of  crimson  and  gold,  woven  in  Milan, 
which  cost  thirteen  pound  sterling  the  braccio  (less 
than  three  quarters  of  a  yard).  Eight  bas-reliefs  in 
pure  silver,  depicting  the  most  striking  events  in  the 
saint's  life,  cover  panels  of  the  wall ;  and  at  each 
angle  is  a  statue  of  pure  silver.  One  of  the  bas- 
reliefs  represents  the  saint  distributing  to  the  poor 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  the  avails  of  an  estate 


44  MIL  A  N. 

"which  he  sold  to  relieve  them  in  a  time  of  extra- 
ordinary distress.     Query,  how  would  he  approve 
the  w^ealth  in  mort-main  in  his  chapel  1     I  have 
been  thus  particular,  my  dear  C,  to  show  you  how 
the  generous  gratitude  of  the  pious  has  been  wast- 
ed and  perverted   by  priestly  ignorance    and  su- 
perstition.    This  chapel  is  no  just  memorial  of  St. 
Charles.     His  records  are  scattered  over  the  Milan- 
ese territory,  in  wise  and  merciful  institutions;  so 
you  may  turn  your  denunciation  of  Catholic  abuses 
into  the  wholesome  channel  of  veneration  for  Chris- 
tian virtues  in  Catholic  form.     St.  Charles  deserves 
everything   short  of  the  Divine  honours  rendered  to 
him.     He  was  made  archbishop  and  cardinal  in  his 
twenty-third  year.     He  lived  with  the  simplicity  of 
Fenelon,  subsisting   on  vegetables,  sleeping   on  a 
straw-bed,  and  dispensing  in  private  with  the  at- 
tendance of  servants.     He  visited  the  obscurest  vil- 
lages of  his  diocese,  and  penetrated  even  into  the  re- 
cesses of  the  Alps.     He  reformed  the  monastic  estab- 
lishments and  instituted  parochial  schools.     He  was 
the  originator  of  Sunday-schools.     We  saw  a  large 
collection  of  boys  and  girls  in  the  Duomo,  taught 
by  priests  and  laymen,  and  learned  this  school  was 
instituted  by  St.  Charles.     We  saw  the  peasants  flock- 
ing to  their  parish  church  on  Sunday,  and  were  told 
they  were  going  to  the  instruction  provided  by  St. 
Charles  I     He  founded  schools,  colleges,  hospitals, 
and  a  lazaretto.     In  every  town  in  which  he  resided 
he  left  a  memorial  of  his  enlightened  generosity,  a 
college,  an  hospital,  or  a  fountain.     There  are  ten 


MILAN.  45 

hospitals  and  five  colleges  of  his  founding,  and 
fountains  without  number.  He  poured  out  gifts  of 
gold  like  water,  and,  better  than  this,  he  submitted 
his  expenditure  to  a  rigid  scrutiny.  After  hearing 
all  this,  you  would  not  stint  the  homage  rendered  to 
him,  though  you  might  wish  to  modify  its  form. 

I  must  confess  that,  to  a  Protestant  Puritan,  dis- 
daining forms  and  symbols,  and  disabused  of  the 
mysteries  of  the  Church,  the  ceremonies  appear 
like  a  theatrical  pageant.  On  the  high  altar  there 
were  statues  in  massive  silver  of  St.  Charles  and  of 
St.  Ambrose,  the  patron-saint  of  Milan,  and,  filling 
the  interval  between  them,  busts  with  mitred  heads, 
also  of  silver.  The  treasure  of  the  church  was 
arranged  against  a  crimson  hanging,  much  as  dishes 
are  arranged  on  a  dresser.  On  one  side  sat  the 
archbishop  on  a  throne  with  a  golden  mitre,  and  in 
magnificent  robes. 

Within  the  choir  opposite  to  us  sat  the  civic  rep- 
resentatives of  the  city,  the  Podesta  at  their  head, 
before  a  table  covered  with  a  rich  cloth,  on  which 
were  emblazoned  the  armorial  bearings  of  Milan  in 
her  happier — her  free  days  !  The  choir  was  filled 
with  bishops,  priests,  and  canons.  Directly  beneath 
us  stood,  with  fixed  bayonets  and  helmet-like  caps, 
a  line  of  gardes  de  feu.  The  nave  was  nearly  filled 
with  people  of  all  conditions ;  and  what  a  multitude 
there  might  be  without  a  crowd,  you  may  imagine 
from  the  Cathedral  being  449  Paris  feet  in  length 
and  275  in  breadth. 

If  it  were  possible  for  me  to  describe  the  ceremo- 


46  MILAN. 

nies,  it  would  be  most  tiresome  to  you.  There  was 
chanting  and  music,  good  and  bad,  as  lively  as  a 
merry  dance  and  as  solemn  as  a  dirge.  There  was 
a  consecration  of  the  host  and  burning  of  incense, 
and  a  kneeling  of  the  vast  multitude.  There  was 
much  mummery  of  the  priests.  The  archbishop  was 
disrobed ;  and,  as  he  laid  aside  each  consecrated  ar- 
ticle of  his  apparel,  he  kissed  it.  A  kneeling  priest 
presented  him  a  golden  ewer,  and  he  washed  his 
hands.  There  was  a  procession  of  priests,  and  hom- 
age rendered  by  the  civic  representatives,  and  a  be- 
stowal of  peace  by  the  archbishop,  transmitted  by 
the  priests  in  a  manner  which  the  girls  likened  to 
the  elegant  diversion  of  our  childhood,  "  Hold  fast 
what  I  give  you."  The  whole  concluded  with  a 
discourse  on  the  merits  of  St.  Charles,  in  the  midst 
of  which  we  came  away  with  the  feeling  that  w^e 
had  been  witnessing  a  sort  of  melo-drama.  But 
I  rather  think  this  feeling  was  quite  as  far  from 
Christian  as  the  ceremonies  we  contemned.  Time 
and  use  have  consecrated  them  to  the  pious  Cath- 
olic. To  him,  each  observation  of  this  to  us  empty 
and  inexpressive  show  imbodies  some  pious  thought 
or  holy  memory.  And,  encumbered  as  the  Catholic 
faith  is,  and  perverted  as  it  assuredly  is  from  the 
original  simplicity  of  the  Gospel,  it  has,  we  know, 
its  living  saints,  and  many  a  worshipper,  I  trust, 
who,  in  spite  of  all  these  clouds  and  darkness,  - 
worships  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 


MILAN.  47 

Count  C — i  came  again  to-day  to  lionize  us,  and 
we  went  forth  in  spite  of  the  rain,  for  we  have  not 
time  to  wait  till  the  waters  "  abate  from  the  face  of 
the  earth."  Will  you  not  like,  my  dear  C,  to  hear 
something  of  the  charitable  institutions  of  Milan, 
and  to  know  that  this  work  of  Christian  love  is  well 
done  here  ? 

We  drove  first  to  the  institution  for  female  or- 
phans. This  was  founded  in  the  fifteenth  century 
by  one  of  the  Borromeo  family,  a  cousin  of  St. 
Charles.  The  building  is  spacious,  built,  as  I  be- 
lieve all  the  large  habitations  are  here,  around  a 
court,  and  with  broad  porticoes  on  the  four  sides, 
where  the  girls  can  have  plenty  of  free  exercise 
when  the  bad  weather  keeps  them  from  their  gar- 
den. Their  garden  is  even  now,  on  the  heels  of 
winter,  beautiful ;  the  grapes  still  in  leaf,  roses  in 
bloom,  and  the  foliage  not  more  faded  than  ours  is 
towards  the  last  of  September.  The  establishment 
is  well  endowed.  The  girls  are  received  from  the 
age  of  seven  to  ten,  and  retained  till  they  are  eigh- 
teen. They  are  instructed  in  reading,  writing,  ci- 
phering, composition,  and  in  female  handicraft. 
They  excel  in  embroidery.  We  saw  most  delicate 
work  in  progress  for  royal  trousseaux.  When  the 
girls  leave  the  institution,  if  they  are  not  so  fortunate 
as  to  get  husbands  at  once — not  a  rare  occurrence, 
the  matron  told  us — they  are  placed  as  domestics 
or  in  shops.  We  saw  them  in  theii  long  work-room, 
with  the  picture  of  the  Virgin  Mary  at  one  end  of  it 


48  MILAN. 

(that  holiest  image  of  love  to  a  Catholic  eye),  ranged 
on  each  side  of  the  table,  with  their  work-baskets, 
cushions,  and  the  implements  of  their  art  in  the 
neatest  order;  some  were  making  garments,  the  most 
accomplished  embroidering,  and  the  youngest  at 
plain  sewing  or  knitting.  There  is  a  little  pulpit 
half  way  up  the  room,  from  which  one  of  the  girls 
reads  prayers  daily,  and  occasionally  a  book  of  de- 
votion.    Secular  books  are  not  permitted. 

The  dormitories  are  spacious  apartments,  lofty  and 
well  ventilated,  and  as  tidily  arranged  as  our  neigh- 
bours the  Shaking  Quakers',  and  with  rather  more  to 
feed  the  imagination.  Beside  each  single  bed,  spread 
with  a  pure  white  Marseilles  cover,  there  hangs  the 
picture  of  a  saint,  som.etimes  a  crucifix,  and  always 
a  rosary ;  and  about  the  walls  are  pictures  of  those 
good  old  men  and  pious  women  that  constitute  the 
world  of  the  pious  Catholic;  and  for  each  com- 
pagnia  (or  class)  there  is  an  altar,  with  all  proper 
appurtenances  thereunto  belonging,  where  prayers 
are  said  night  and  morning. 

We  went  into  the  chapel,  the  kitchen,  and  the 
distilling-room,  where  several  girls  were  busily  em- 
ployed ;  and  finally  into  the  dining-room,  just  as 
the  bell  was  ringing  for  dinner.  The  girls  came 
trooping  in  in  orderly  files — beautiful  girls  they  were 
■ — and  each,  as  she  passed,  saluted  us  with  a  grace- 
ful bow  and  a  sweet  smile.  I  wish  teaching  could 
give  such  manners,  and  our  stiff-jointed  girls  could 
be  taught  them  !  The  table  was  neatly  spread,  with 
a  napkin  at  each  plate.    The  soup  was  excellent, 


MILAN.  49 

as  I  proved  by  taking  a  spoon  from  one  of  the  lit- 
tle things  and  tasting  it,  at  which  she  looked  up 
so  pleased  that  you  would  certainly  have  kissed  the 
blooming  round  cheek  she  willingly  turned  to  me — 
and  so  did  I.  Besides  the  soup  there  was  a  small 
portion  of  meat,  potatoes,  excellent  bread,  and  white 
and  red  wine.  Their  supper  consists  of  bread,  sal- 
ad, and  fruit.  On  the  whole,  I  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  orphan's  Providence  in  Milan  is  better 
than  father  and  mother. 

Our  conductress,  who  looked  very  like  a  respect- 
able New-England  countrywoman,  gave  me  a  bou- 
quet at  parting ;  and,  as  we  got  into  the  carriage,  our 
most  elegant  of  cavaliers  took  off  his  hat  and  bow- 
ed to  her  with  as  deferential  a  courtesy  as  if  she 
had  been  a  royal  princess. 

Our  next  visit  was  to  an  infant-school  of  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  children,  under  six  years  of  age,  of 
which  Count  C — i  is  director.  This  is  one  of  seven 
infant-schools  in  Milan,  all  supported  by  private 
charities.  The  children,  boys  and  girls,  were  dress- 
ed alike  in  blouses  of  a  stout  cotton  plaid.  They 
were  eating  a  good  soup  when  we  entered,  all  ex- 
cept one  little  transgressor,  who  stood  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  condemned  to  expiate  some  sin  in  this 
purgatory.  He  attracted  C.'s  compassion,  and  his 
superb  figure  bending  over  him  was  a  picture.  The 
little  penitent  was,  of  course,  soon  transferred  to  a 
hungry  boy's  paradise — the  dinner-table  After 
chanting  an  after-dinner  grace,  they  tramped  into 
an  adjoining  room,  where  they  went  through  a  drill 

Vol.  II.— E 


50  M  I  L  A  N. 

for  our  edification,  showing  themselves  as  well  in- 
structed as  the  young  savans  of  similar  institutions 
in  our  New-England  Athens. 

They  finished  with  a  catechism  somewhat  differ- 
ing from  ours.  "  Where  is  Paradise  ?"  asked  their 
teacher.  "  In  the  invisible  heaven."  "  Why  invis- 
ible ?"  To  which,  while  I  was  expectmg  in  re- 
sponse some  metaphysical  enigma,  the  boy  replied, 
"  Perche  se  vede  nb"  ("  Because  it  is  not  seen"). 
"  What  did  you  become  by  baptism  1"  asked  the 
teacher.  "  A  Christian."  "  Are  you  all  Christians  1" 
They  replied,  in  chorus,  "  Noi  siamo  tutti  Cristiani, 
per  la  grazia  di  Dio !"  ("  We  are  all  Christians  by 
the  grace  of  God").  Poor  little  fellows!  May 
they  learn  by  experience  what  the  glorious  posses- 
sion is,  signified  by  the  name  which  alone  the  rite  of 
baptism  can  give. 


We  awoke  this  morning  to  a  bright  day,  the  first 
unclouded  one  we  have  had  for  weeks — and  this  is 
"  bella  Italia  !"  The  girls  were  enchanted,  as  girls 
may  be,  with  sallying  forth  in  their  new  bonnets  and 
fair-weather  dresses.  C.'s  carriage  was  at  our  hotel 
at  an  early  hour  (for  this  was  to  be  a  busy  day),  and 
off  we  drove  to  the  hospital,  an  institution  founded 
in  1456  by  Francesco  Sforza,  fourth  Duke  of  Milan. 
He  gave  his  palace,  a  curious  antique  it  is,  now,  how- 
ever, forming  but  a  small  portion  of  the  pile  of  build- 
ings. Successive  donations  have  enriched  the  institu- 
tion, till  its  income  amounts  to  two  hundred  and  fifty 


MILAN.  51 

thousand  dollars.  There  is  provision  for  two  thou- 
sand two  hundred  and  forty  persons,  and  during  the 
past  summer  the  hospital  has  been  full. 

Supported  by  this  foundation,  but  without  the 
town,  there  is  an  insane  hospital,  a  lying-in  hospital, 
and  a  foundling  hospital,  where  there  are  now  nine 
thousand  children  !  And,  besides  this,  charities  are 
distributed  to  individuals  throughout  the  Milanese 
territory,  in  cases  where  it  is  considered  inexpedient 
to  remove  them  to  the  hospital. 

There  is  a  fine  bathing  establishment.  Some 
baths  are  appropriated  exclusively  to  patients  af- 
flicted with  a  fever  peculiar  to  Lombardy,  resem- 
bling leprosy,  for  which  the  warm  bath  is  the 
only  known  remedy.  There  are  plenty  of  diseases, 
I  fancy,  prevailing  among  the  poor  in  Italy,  for 
which  the  warm  bath  and  plenty  of  soap  would  be 
a  cure. 

After  going  through  the  repositories  for  clothes, 
the  galleries  and  courts  for  exercise,  the  laboratory, 
the  kitchen  (where  immense  quantities  of  wholesome 
food  were  in  preparation),  I  said  to  C — i,  "  The 
peasants  must  be  very  glad  to  have  a  good  reason 
for  coming  here."  "  On  the  contrary,"  he  said, 
"  they  are  unwilling  to  leave  their  homes,  and  never 
come  till  forced  by  misery."  Truly  He  who  "  set 
the  solitary  in  families"  knew  the  elements  of  the 
affections  He  had  given  and  for  which  He  was  pro- 
viding. 

We  passed  through  some  of  the  apartments  where 
were  great  congregations  of  the  sick,  each  surround- 


52  MILAN. 

ed  with  suffering,  and  yet  in  what  was  to  him  com- 
plete solitude.  No  wonder  man  everywhere  clings 
to  the  wretchedest  home  where  he  can  feel  a  moth- 
er's hand,  meet  the  eye  of  a  wife  or  sister,  hear  the 
voices  of  his  children,  and  see  some  mute  objects 
that  touch  the  springs  of  memory  and  hope ! 

I  suppose  this  is  much  like  other  hospitals.  I 
never  was  in  one  before,  and  the  scene  haunts  me 
— those  haggard  faces  of  vacancy,  or  of  weakness 
and  misery.  A  few  were  reading  religious  books, 
one  man  was  confessing  to  his  priest,  and  a  conva- 
lescent was  recei\ing  instruction  from  a  layman,  one 
of  a  society  of  men  and  women  who  devote  them- 
selves to  the  ignorant  poor.  A  screen  was  drawn 
around  one  bed,  to  hide  the  unconscious  tenant  from 
whom  the  world  was  forever  hidden. 

In  the  "  Archivia"  we  were  shown  Sforza's  origi- 
nal deed  of  gift,  with  his  autograph ;  and,  what 
pleased  me  much  more,  a  deed  of  gift  from  my  fa- 
vourite St.  Charles,  with  his  autograph.  This  slight 
record  of  our  superficial  observation  of  the  charita- 
ble institutions  of  Milan  will  convince  you  that 
Italy  is  not  merely  the  mass  of  vice,  beggary,  and 
impotence  it  is  so  often  represented,  but  that  there 
are  yet  left  more  than  the  ten  righteous  to  save  the 
cities. 


On  leaving  the  hospital  a  change  came  "  o'er  the 
spirit  of  our  dream."  C — i  said  the  day  was  made 
to  see  the  view  from  the  spire  of  the  Duomo ;  so  we 


MILAN.  53 

"Went  there,  and  wound  up  the  ahnost  interminable 
but  convenient  staircase  to  the  lower  roof. 

This  Cathedral  is  of  white  marble,  that  is,  original- 
ly white ;  but  as  it  was  begun  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, a  great  part  is  discoloured,  nearly  blackened. 
It,  however,  contrasts  w^ell  with  the  glittering  white- 
ness of  that  portion  finished  in  the  time  of  Napoleon. 
It  is  a  history  in  stone,  going  far  back  into  the  dim 
ages.  I  am  always  on  the  verge  of  a  description  of 
these  bewitching  cathedrals,  in  spite  of  my  resolution 
against  it.  But  I  ca?i  give  none,  and  therefore  mere- 
ly tell  you  that  the  edifice  is  supported  by  fifty-two 
marble  columns ;  that  three  of  its  sides  are  covered 
with  bas-reliefs,  with  single  figures  and  groups  of 
figures ;  that  there  are  more  than  3000  statues  on  it ; 
that  there  are  100  spires  running  up  into  points  call- 
ed needles,  each  surmounted  with  a  statue,  and  in 
the  centre,  and  rising  above  all,  a  marble  gilt  statue 
of  the  Virgin  crowned  Queen  of  Heaven.  You 
have  no  conception  of  the  prodigality  of  its  adorn- 
ments till  you  are  on  the  roof,  and  pass  from  marble 
terrace  to  terrace,  up  one  flight  of  marble  stairs  and 
another,  and  another,  and  through  labyrinths  of  gal- 
leries, and  groups  of  statues  of  old  monks,  pilgrims, 
saints,  cherubs,  and  children;  every  angle,  every 
little  niche  filled  with  them ;  and  see,  far  above  you, 
those  hundred  figures  on  their  airy  pinnacles,  look- 
ing as  if  they  were  native  to  the  element  they  are  in, 
and  might  move  upon  it.  You  may,  perhaps,  have 
some  idea  of  the  extent  of  this  intricate  maze  of  art 
and  beauty  when  I  tell  you  that  persons  have  wan- 

E2 


54  MILAN. 

dered  about  here  for  hours,  lost,  and  unable  to  find  a 
clew  to  the  place  where  they  entered. 

If  Gibbon,  who  was  not  addicted  to  pious  reflec- 
tions, exclaimed  after  his  elaborate  description  of  St. 
Sophia, "  How  dull  is  the  artifice,  how  small  the  la- 
bour, compared  with  the  formation  of  the  vilest  in- 
sect that  creeps  upon  the  surface  of  the  temple!" 
what,  think  you,  must  have  been  our  sensations 
when,  having  passed  every  obstruction  to  our  sight, 
we  raised  our  eyes  from  this  gorgeous  edifice  to  a 
temple  not  built  with  man's  hands — to  God's  most 
beautiful  work  on  earth,  to  the  Alps,  bounding  one 
third  of  a  horizon  of  magnificent  extent,  every  point 
defined,  every  outline  marked  on  the  clear  atmo- 
sphere— to  Monte  Rosa,  sitting  a  Queen  of  Beauty 
on  her  high  throne,  shining  like  the  angel  in  the 
Apocalypse,  whom  the  rapt  apostle  saw  standing  in 
the  sun.  We  were  in  danger  of  forgetting  our  hu- 
manity, but  our  sight  was  overpowered,  our  field  of 
vision  contracted  to  the  rich  plains  of  Lombardy, 
then  to  the  city  under  us,  to  the  piazza  del  duomo, 
and  to  those  detestable  loaded  and  primed  Austrian 
canon,  and  we  became  quite  conscious  that  this  was 
not  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds ! 

After  winding  up  the  staircase  within  the  central 
and  loftiest  spire,  we  reached  a  point  from  which  our 
first  resting-place  seemed  hardly  removed  from  the 
ground.  We  came  down  to  the  marble  wilderness 
again,  and  w^andered  for  an  hour  over  it.  Once  C — i 
paused,  and,  placing  his  hand  on  a  balustrade,  said, 
"Do  you  like  tragedies?'     Young  people  always 


MILAN.  55 

do,  and  ours  looking  like  the  eager  listeners  they 
were,  he  proceeded :  "  Two  years  ago  there  was  a 
Milanese  passionately  attached  to  a  young  married 
woman  of  our  city,  whose  husband  became  jealous, 
and  fearful  to  the  lovers.  In  their  mad  passion  and 
despair  they  agreed  to  meet  here  and  throw  them- 
selves off.  Both  were  true  to  the  appointment,  but 
when  the  woman  saw  before  her  the  terrible  death 
to  which  she  had  consented,  her  nerves  were  not 
strong  enough,  and  she  tried  to  escape  from  her 
lover.  His  resolve,  however,  was  unshaken ;  for  an 
hour  he  pursued,  she  flying  through  these  galleries, 
over  the  terraces,  running  up  these  long  staircases  and 
gliding  down,  now  hiding,  now  darting  out  again ; 
but  finally  he  caught  her,  dragged  her  here,  and,-while 
she  was  shrieking,  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  leap- 
ed from  this  balustrade — look  down,  and  you  may 
imagine  the  horrors  of  the  death."  We  looked  down 
at  the  jutting  points  that  interrupted  the  descent  to  the 
pavement,  and  all  turned  away  silent  and  shuddering. 


We  found  Madame  T.  at  our  hotel,  full  of  cor- 
diality, animation,  and  kindness.  She  had  come  in 
from  her  villa  at  Desio  to  keep  her  appointment 
with  us.  She  first  took  us  to  her  town-house,  which 
has  recently  undergone  a  remodelling  and  refurnish- 
ing, and  a  most  luxurious  establishment  it  is.  The  per- 
fection of  Parisian  taste,  the  masterly  workmanship 
of  England,  and  the  beautiful  art  of  her  own  country, 
have  all  been  made  subservient  to  wealth  almost  un- 


56  MILAN. 

limited.  It  seemed  to  me  like  the  realization  of  an 
Arabian  tale.  I  have  seen  luxurious  furniture  else- 
where, but  nothing,  not  even  at  Windsor  Castle,  so 
beautiful  as  Madame  T.'s  painted  ceilings,  her  mo- 
saic floors,  and  a  window  painted  by  Palaggio,  in 
the  exquisite  colours  which  modern  art  has  revived, 
illustrating  Ivanhoe.  How  Scott  has  chained  the 
arts  to  his  triumphal  car  !  There  was  a  screen,  too, 
exquisitely  painted  by  the  same  artist.  We  went 
through  the  whole  suite  of  apartments,  dining-room, 
coffee-room,  drawing-room,  music-room,  billiard- 
room,  &c.,  Madame  T.  pointing  out  the  details  to  us 
with  the  undisguised  naive  pleasure  of  a  child.  "  Je 
vous  assure,"  she  said,  "  que  lorsqu'il  y  a  les  rideaux 
en  velours  et  satin  blanc  avec  les  derriere-rideaux 
en  tulle  brode,  c'a  fait  un  bel  effet."*  An  English 
or  American  woman  would  have  affected  some  little 
reserve ;  the  frankness  of  the  Italian  lady  was  bet- 
ter. When  we  expressed  our  admiration,  Madame 
T.  said,  "  This  is  all  very  well,  but  you  must  see 
the  Countess  S.'s  house.     It  is  far  superior  to  mine."f 

*  "  I  assure  you,  that  when  the  curtains  of  velvet  and  w^hite  satin, 
with  the  under-curtains  of  embroidered  Tulle,  are  up,  the  et!ect  is 
beautiful." 

t  We  were  afterward  shown  the  Countess  S.'s  apartments.  The 
furniture  was  most  luxurious,  and  there  were  beautiful  sculpture 
and  painting,  but  the  house  was  not  in  as  good  taste  as  Madame 
T.'s,  nor  more  magnificent.  I  was  attracted  by  a  striking,  fierce- 
looking  portrait,  and  asked  an  Italian  gentleman  with  us  if  that  was 
the  countess's  husband.  "  Oh,  no,"  he  replied;  "  she  has  not  lived 
•with  her  husband  for  some  years.  This  is  the  picture  of  an  opera- 
singer,  a  favourite  of  the  countess ;  she  has  no  children,  I  believe," 
he  added,  appealing  to  our  cicerone.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied 
the  man,  coolly,  "  she  has  one,  not  quite  a  year  old."  I  afterward 
learned  this  woman  had  a  notoriety  that  rivalled  Catharine's  of  Rus- 


M  I  L  A  N.  57 

Madame  T.  accompanied  us  to  the  studii  of  Hayez 
and  Palaggio,  the  two  most  celebrated  painters  of  ^ 

Northern  Italy.  An  Italian  studio  is  always  inter- 
esting, enriched  as  it  is  with  the  models,  drawings, 
&c.,  &c.,  that  are  the  studies  of  the  artist.  Palaggio 
is  an  architect  and  antiquarian  as  well  as  painter, 
and  spends  whatever  he  acquires  (which  is  no  trifle) 
upon  some  treasure  or  curiosity  of  art.  so  that  his 
rooms  looked  more  like  a  museum  than  a  studio.  I 
might  bore  you  with  a  description  of  some  things 
that  we  saw  here,  but  that  my  mind  was  too  preoc- 
cupied to  observe  Palaggio's  paintings,  or  even  to 
heed  his  friend  Madame  T.'s  enthusiastic  praises  of 
them.  In  coming  here,  she  had  pointed  out  to  us 
Confalonieri's  house,  the  suite  of  apartments  occu- 
pied by  his  angelic  countess,  and  the  cupola  through 
which  he  attempted  to  escape  when  he  was  seized 
by  the  Austrian  police.  All  this  produced  too  vivid 
an  impression  of  our  friend's  sufferings  to  allow  any 
pleasant  sensations  immediately  to  succeed  it.  You 
will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Count  C — i  has  been  the 
faithful  steward  of  Confalonieri,  as  Madame  T.  ex- 
pressed it,  "  La  vraie  Providence."  R.  and  the  girls 
passed  the  evening  in  the  Podesta's  loge  at  the 
opera. 

sia ;  and  yet  that,  whenever  these  superb  rooms  were  thrown  open, 
they  were  filled  with  the  noblest  society  in  Milan.  "  Mais  que  voii- 
lez  vous  V  said  a  Milanese  gentleman  to  a  young  English  lady  who 
had  dechned  the  countess's  invitation  ;  "  elle  est  une  femme  char- 
mante — parfaitement  bien  elevee  !"  Backwoods  barbarisms  are  bet- 
ter than  this ! 


58  MILAN. 

This  morning  we  set  off  on  an  excursion  planned 
for  us  by  our  kind  friends,  and  came  first,  attended 
by  G — a,  to  Monza,  some  eight  or  nine  miles  from 
Milan.  This  city,  you  know,  is  often  named  in  the 
history  of  the  Italian  Republics.  It  has  now  an  im- 
perial palace,  where  the  viceroy  occasionally  lives, 
where  he  has  a  noble  park,  which,  however,  does 
not  suffice  for  his  royal  hunts,  and  so  there  are  addi- 
tions to  it ;  pairings  cut  off  from  the  grounds  of  the 
neighbouring  gentlemen  called  "  cacia  riservata,^^ 
which  they  must  by  no  means  intrude  on.  What 
thorns  must  these  encroachments  be  to  the  impatient 
spirit  of  the  Italians ! 

We  went  over  the  grounds ;  they  are  richly  va- 
ried with  artificial  water,  waterfalls,  a  grotto,  &c. 
But  the  chief  object  of  attraction  at  Monza  is  the 
famed  iron  crown  of  Lombardy.  I  felt,  I  confess,  a 
keen  desire  to  see  it ;  for  whatever  doubts  the  skep- 
tic may  throw  over  the  transmission  of  the  veritable 
nails  of  the  cross  from  St.  Helena  to  Queen  Theo- 
linda,  which  form  the  circlet  of  the  iron  crown,  it 
w^as,  beyond  a  doubt,  once  placed  on  the  brow  of 
Charlemagne  and  of  Napoleon.*     It  is  kept  in  the 

*  Lady  Morgan  concludes  a  most  minute  description  of  the  pomp 
that  attended  the  conveying  the  iron  crown  from  Monza  to  Milan  for 
Ivapoleon's  coronation  thus  :  "  Last  came  a  carriage  with  the  master 
of  ceremonies,  bearing  the  crown  on  a  velvet  cushion.  Twenty-five 
of  Bonaparte's  old  guard  surrounded  the  honoured  vehicle.  The 
crown  was  received  in  Milan  with  a  salvo  of  artillery  and  the  ringing 
of  bells,  and  at  the  portal  of  the  Cathedral  by  the  Cardinal-archbish- 
op of  Milan,  who  bore  it  through  the  church  and  deposited  it  on  the 
altar.     The  guaftis  watched  round  it  during  the  night." 


MILAN.  59 

Cathedral  of  Monza,  a  rare  old  edifice  with  much 
barbaric  ornament,  and  containino^  amono;  its  treas- 
ure  some  curious  relics  of  Theolinda,  the  favourite 
Queen  of  Lombardy.  We  scarcely  "  improved  the 
privilege"  of  seeing  these  things,  and  looked  only  at 
a  ponderous  fan  with  which  her  majesty  must  rather 
have  heated  than  cooled  herself;  at  a  very  indifferent 
dressing-comb  with  a  richly -jewelled  handle,  and  at 
the  sapphire  cup,  wrought  from  a  single  stone,  in 
which  her  majesty  pledged  her  second  husband  ! 

It  was  evident  that  our  friends  had  made  great 
efforts  to  obtain  for  us  a  sight  of  the  real  crown,  and 
that  very  solemn  observances  were  necessary  to 
showing  it,  which  I  fear  we  were  quite  incapable  of 
appreciating.  Several  priests  entered  and  put  on 
their  sacred  robes.  One  knelt,  while  others  placed 
a  ladder  against  the  wall  to  ascend  to  the  shrine 
where,  above  the  high  altar,  this  crown  is  kept  en- 
closed. Three  locks  were  turned  with  golden  keys. 
The  kneeling  priest  flourished  his  silver  censer; 
sending  up  a  cloud  of  incense,  and  half  veiled  by  it,  a 
huge  cross,  resplendent  with  jewels,  was  brought 
down,  and  the  sacred  crown  forming  its  centre 
was  revealed  to  our  profane  eyes.  The  nails  are 
made  into  a  ring  of  iron,  enclosed  by  a  circlet  of 
pure  gold  studded  with  priceless  jewels.  In  the 
arms  of  the  cross,  which  is  of  wood  covered  with 
gold,  are  set,  at  short  spaces  apart,  small  glass 
cases  containing  precious  relics,  the  sponge  and 
reed  of  the  crucifixion,  bits  of  the  true  cross,  &c. 
The  cross  was  restored  to  its  position  with  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  ceremonies,  the  prayers,  and  the  incense ; 


60  M  I  L  A  N. 

and,  finally,  the  principal  official  took  off  his  robes 
one  by  one,  and  kissed  each  as  he  reverently  folded 
it.  I  was  glad  when  it  was  all  over ;  for  these  reli- 
gious ceremonies,  where  I  am  forever  vibrating  be- 
tween the  humility  of  conscious  ignorance  and  the 
pride  of  a  superior  liberty,  are  always  painful  to  me. 
That  grand  old  barbaric  monarch,  Frederic  Bar- 
barossa,  by  turns  the  scourge  and  victim  of  the 
church,  lies  here.  We  were  obliged  to  pass  with- 
out examination  his  sarcophagus  and  monument, 
and  the  curious  frescoes  of  this  Cathedral,  for  we 
wanted  time  on  our  way  to  Desio  to  stop  at  the 
monument  to  the  Countess  Confalonieri.  She  is 
buried  in  the  grounds  of  her  brother,  our  friend 
Count  C.  C — i.  The  spot  is  enclosed,  and  a  mar- 
ble monument  is  over  it,  with  the  following  beauti- 
ful inscription  written  by  Manzoni : 

"  Teresa,  nata  da  Gaspare  Casati,  e  da  Maria  Origoni  il  XVIII. 
Settembre,  MDCCLXXXVII,,  maritata  a  Frederico  Confalonieri  il 
XIV.  Ottobre,  MDCCCVI.  Orno  modestamente  la  prospers  sorte 
di  lui,  I'afflitta  soccorse  con  I'opera,  e  partecipo  con  I'animo,  quanto 
ad  opera  e  ad  animo  umano  e  conceduto,  Consunta,  ma  non  vinta 
dal  cordoglio,  mori,  sperando  nel  signore  del  desolati,  il  XXVI.  Set- 
tembre, MDCCCXXX. 

"  Gabrio,  Angelo,  Camillo  Casati  alia  sorella  amantissima  ed  ama- 
tissima,  eressero  ed  a  se  preparano  questo  monumente,  per  riposare 
tutti  un  giorno  accanto  alle  ossa  care  e  venerate.  Vale  intanto,  an- 
ima  forte  e  soave !  Noi,  porgendo  tuttavia  preci,  ed  ofFerendo  sa- 
grificii,  per  te,  confidiamo  che,  accolta  nell'  eterna  luce,  discerni  ora 
i  misteri  di  misericordia  nascosti  quaggui  nei  rigori  di  Dio."* 


*  "  Teresa,  born  of  Gaspari  Casati  and  of  Maria  Orgoni  on  the 
18th  of  September,  1787,  was  married  to  Frederic  Confalonieri  on  the 
14th  of  October,  1806.  She  adorned  his  prosperity,  and,  in  as  far  as 
sympathy  and  benefaction  are  permitted  to  a  human  being,  her  soul 
shared  his  adversity,  and  her  deeds  softened  it.    Consumed,  but  not 


MILAN.  61 

The  whole  reading  world  is  now  familiar  with  the 
character  of  Theresa  Confalonieri ;  with  the  partic- 
ulars of  the  heroic  conjugal  devotion  of  this  victim 
to  Austrian  despotism,  and  martyr  to  conjugal  affec- 
tion.  Let  your  children,  for  the  sake  of  their  char- 
ities, my  dear  C,  remember  that  this  character  was 
formed  in  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
sustained  in  a  country  where  they  will  be  often  told 
the  women  are  oil  of  a  piece  with  the  Countess  S. 
That  the  organization  of  society  here,  as  far  aa 
women  are  concerned,  is  bad  enough,  I  doubt  not,* 
but  let  us  not  believe  that  to  be  universal  which 
is  only  general. 

Madame  T.'s  villa  is  near  the  little  town  of  De- 
sio.  After  arriving  at  Desio  we  had  an  hour  of 
rich  twilight  before  dinner  to  see  her  grounds, 
which  have  given  us  new  ideas  of  an  Italian  villa, 
and  would  lead  us  to  think  it  is  not  so  much  a  want 
of  taste  for  rural  life  as  a  want  of  means  to  carry 
out  their  ideas  of  art  and  beauty,  that  drives  the 
Italian  gentry  from  their  country-places.  Madame 
T.  lacks  nothing  to  produce  the  results  she  wills. 
Her  conservatories,  extending  many  hundred  feet  on 
each  side  her  mansion,  indicate  princely  wealth. 

overcome  by  sorrow,  she  died  on  the  20th  of  September,  1830,  trust- 
ing in  the  God  of  the  desolate. 

*'  Gabrio,  Angelo,  and  Camillo  Casati  have  erected  this  monument 
to  their  most  loving  and  beloved  sister,  and  prepared  it  for  them- 
selves, that  they  may  one  day  repose  beside  her  dear  and  venerated 
remains.  Farewell,  meanwhile,  brave  and  gentle  spirit !  We,  con- 
tinually offering  up  prayers  and  sacrifices  for  thee,  trust  that  thou,  re- 
ceived into  eternal  life,  canst  now  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  mercy 
which  here  below  are  hidden  in  the  chastenings  of  God." 

Vol.  II.— F 


62  MILAN. 

They  are  filled  with  exotic  fruits  and  flowers ;  one 
is  filled  with  pines  in  great  perfection  and  positive 
abundance — some  five  or  six  thousand  well-2:rown 
plants  of  the  camelia  japonica  intimate  the  magnif- 
icent scale  of  things  here. 

On  one  side  of  the  estate  there  is  an  old  abbey 
which  serves  the  purpose  of  stables  and  other  offices, 
and  which,  last  year,  must  have  looked  rather  ruin- 
ous and  Italianish;  this  has  been  recently  ingeniously 
masked  under  the  direction  of  the  artist  Palaggio,  and 
now  appears  to  be  fragments  of  an  acqueduct  and 
an  old  abbey  church  with  a  tower,  from  which  you 
have  a  view  over  half  the  rich  plains  of  Lombardy, 
of  an  amphitheatre  of  Alps,  of  Como  in  the  dis- 
tance, and — I  could  fill  my  sheet  with  names  that 
would  make  your  heart  beat  if  you  had  been  here. 
Within  the  edifice  there  is  a  theatre  and  a  salle 
d'armes,  which  is  to  be  also  a  museum,  and  is  al- 
ready weU  begun  with  a  collection  of  antiques. 

There  are  noble  avenues  of  old  trees  that  might 
make  an  Englishman  look  up  and  around  him. 
Through  one  of  these  we  went  to  a  pretty  toy  of 
a  labyrinth,  where  one  might  get  "  a  little  lost." 
We  were  soon  extricated  by  our  lady,  who  held  the 
clew,  and  who  led  us  around  the  winding,  bosky 
margin  of  a  lake  so  extensive  that  I  did  not  dream 
nature  had  not  set  it  there  and  filled  its  generous 
basin,  till  Madame  T.  told  me  it  was  fed  by  a  stream 
of  water  brought  from  Lake  Como ;  and  this  stream 
flows  through  the  grounds ;  now  leaping  over  a  pre- 
cipice, and  now  dancing  over  a  rocky  channel,  and 


MILAN.  63 

singing  on  its  way  as  if  it  chose  its  own  pleasant 
path.  There  are  many  artificial  elevations ;  we  pass- 
ed over  one  half  as  high  as  our  Laurel  Hill,  with 
full-grown  trees  upon  it ;  and  between  this  and  an- 
other is  a  wild  dell  with  a  cascade,  an  aerial  bridge, 
and  tangled  shrubbery :  a  cabinet  picture  of  some 
passages  in  Switzerland ;  and  on  my  saying  this, 
Madame  T.  replied,  she  called  it  her  "  Suisse."  At 
one  end  of  the  lake,  near  a  fisherman's  hut,  is  a  mon- 
ument to  Tasso,  half  hidden  with  bays.  There  was 
a  fishing-boat  near  the  hut,  and  so  I  took  it  for  a 
true  story ;  but,  on  Madam  T.  throwing  open  the 
door,  we  entered  an  apartment  fitted  up  with  mu- 
sical instruments,  which  she  modestly  called  her 
sewing-room.  How  fit  it  is  for  that  sedative  em- 
ployment you  may  judge :  there  is  a  lovely  statue 
in  the  middle  of  the  room ;  the  walls  and  ceiling  are 
covered  with  illustrations  of  Tasso  in  fresco,  and 
from  each  window  is  a  different  and  most  enchanting 
view. 

"  What  a  happy  woman  you  must  be !"  said  I  to 
our  charming  hostess,  "  to  be  the  mistress  of  this 
most  lovely  place !"  (a  foolish  remark  enough,  by- 
the-by) ;  her  face  changed,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  after  alluding  to  repeated  afflictions  from  the 
severance  of  domestic  ties  by  death,  and  to  the  suf- 
ferings of  her  friends  for  their  political  opinions,  she 
concluded,  "you  know  something  of  the  human 
heart — judge  for  me,  can  I  be  happy  ?"  Alas !  alas ! 
what  contrasts  are  there  between  the  exterior  and 
interior  of  life ! 


64  MILAN. 

The  deepening  twilight  drove  us  in,  and  Madame 
T.,  who,  to  the  refinements  of  her  elegant  hospitality, 
adds  the  higher  grace  of  frank,  unceremonious  kind- 
ness, conducted  us  herself  to  our  apartments,  where 
we  truly  were  lost  in  six  immense  rooms,  each  as 
large  as  half  an  American  house,  and  a  pretty  fair- 
sized  one  too.  We  drew  as  nearly  together  as  we 
could,  and  made  a  settlement  in  these  vast  solitudes, 
which,  I  confess,  look  rather  dreary,  writh  our  preju- 
dices in  favour  of  carpets,  snugness,  comfort,  and 
such  un-Italian,  unartistic  ideas ! 

There  was  a  family  party  at  dinner.  Madame 
T.'s  nieces  and  grand-nieces  are  staying  with  her. 
The  children  were  at  table.  "  Our  Italian  custom," 
Madame  T.  says,  and  a  \vholesome  one  it  is.  The 
dinner  was  served  in  the  fashion  of  Madame  K.'s  at 
Frankfort ;  fruit,  flowers,  and  sweetmeats  only  placed 
on  the  table,  and,  being  but  little  more  than  a  fam- 
ily dinner,  would,  I  think,  rather  have  startled  those 
people  who  fancy  Italians  all  live  on  maccaroni  and 
eau  Sucre.  The  cookery  was  in  the  best  French 
style.  The  French,  I  believe,  give  the  law  to  the 
kitchens  as  well  as  the  toilets  of  the  civilized  world. 
"We  had  a  delicacy  much  esteemed  here — the  Pied- 
montese  truffle.  It  was  served  as  a  salad,  is  white, 
very  good,  and  very  costly.  The  gentleman  who 
sat  on  my  right  (the  curate  of  the  village,  a  person 
certainly  not  falling  within  the  condemnation  of 
the  gourmand  w^ho  says  a  man  is  a  fool  who  does 
not  love  truffles)  told  me,  in  the  intervals  of  swal- 
lowing at  least  half  a  pound  of  them,  that  they  cost 


MILAN.  65 

between  seven  and  fourteen  francs  the  ounce  !  Be- 
sides all  the  fruits  in  season,  and  delicious  home- 
grouyn  pines,  we  had  a  fruit  called  nespuli,  much 
liked  here,  which,  to  my  taste,  resembled  the  frozen 
and  thawed  apple  I  have  picked  up  under  our  apple- 
trees  in  a  sunny  March  day;  and,  will  you  believe  it, 
villanous  as  it  was,  it  had  a  smack  of  home  and 
childish  and  rustic  things,  that  in  this  far  land,  in 
the  midst  of  all  these  luxuries,  brought  tears  to  my 
eyes.  There  v/as  another  strange  foreign  fruit  very 
pretty  and  passably  good,  resembling  the  seed-ves- 
sel of  some  flower,  and  called  chichingie.  The 
evening  was  filled  up  with  Chinese  billiards  for  the 
girls  and  common  billiards  for  the  gentlemen,  and 
a  diverting  lesson  in  Milanese  from  the  count  to  the 
girls,  who  are  highly  amused  with  the  cracking 
sound  of  this  spurious  Italian.  My  evening  was 
spent  in  talking  with  Madame  T.  and  with  the 
curate  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  America.  He 
was  much  surprised  at  the  idea  of  its  gaining 
ground  there,  and  much  delighted  too  ;  and  he  pro- 
posed to  an  octogenarian  brother  of  Monsieur  T. 
a  pilgrimage  to  the  Valley  of  the  Mississippi,  about 
which,  I  suspect,  I  gave  him  his  most  definite  no- 
tion by  telling  him  that  no  truffles  grew  there  ! 

Madame  T.,  who  uses  her  privilege  of  sex  in 
talking  freely  (and  eloquently,  too)  on  forbidden 
subjects,  roused  all  our  sympathies  by  her  particu- 
lars of  the  petty  and  irritating  annoyances  to  which 
the  Austrian  surveillance  subjects  them. 

F2 


66  MILAN. 

My  dear  C,  it  is  worth  the  trouble  of  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  Old  World  to  learn  to  feel — to  realize  our 
political  blessings  and  our  political  exemptions. 
And  what  do  those  renegadoes  deserve — I  cannot  call 
them  by  a  gentler  name — who,  enjoying  the  order 
of  despotism  in  travelling  through  Europe,  come 
home  and  extol  the  Austrian  government,  and  sigh 
for  those  countries  where  there  is  no  danger  that 
freedom  may  run  into  the  madness  of  "  Lynch-law  1" 
"What  is  every  tyrannical  decree  of  absolutism  but  a 
Lynch-law  1  I  have  met  an  Englishman  who  was 
not  ashamed  to  prefer  the  quiet  of  Austrian  domin- 
ion to  a  government  that  involved  the  tumult  of  an 
English  election!  Would  these  people  be  cured, 
think  ye,  by  a  year's  solitary  reflection  in  the  dun- 
geons of  Spielberg  ?  But  "  good-night ;"  I  am  too 
tired  for  political  or  any  other  speculation — remem- 
ber, we  began  the  day  at  Monza. 


Milan,  November  11. 
My  dear  C, 
We  have  returned  from  our  three  days'  excursion, 
and  as  I  hear  the  rain  pattering  on  the  pavement, 
and  look  up  through  our  dingy  window,  it  seems  but 
a  brilliant  dream.  We  waked  at  Desio  to  such  a 
morning  as  might  have  inspired  Guido's  conception 
of  his  Aurora,  and,  after  a  breakfast  which  our 
bountiful  hostess  enriched  with  every  barbarism, 
English  and  American,  she  had  ever  heard  of,  in- 
cluding tea,  whose  odorous  breath  for  the  first  time, 


MILAN.  67 

I  fancy,  incensed  that  old  Italian  mansion,  we  set  off 
in  two  carriages  for  Como.  'I  was  much  amused 
and  somewhat  instructed  by  questions  which  Ma- 
dame T.  and  the  count  put  to  me  relative  to  Ameri- 
can courtships  and  marriages.  The  count  had  just 
come  from  the  marriage  of  a  niece  who  had  seen 
her  husband  but  once  or  twice,  and  never  but  in  the 
presence  of  her  family.  Italian  marriages  in  high 
life  were  all,  he  confessed,  mere  marriages  of  conve- 
nance,  arranged  by  the  parents;  so  that,  as  Byron 
has  said,  "  marrying  for  the  parents,  they  love  for 
themselves." 

I  asked  if  their  young  women  were  always  passive 
under  these  contracts  made  by  their  guardians — no; 
the  reluctance  was  sometimes  too  strong  to  be 
mastered,  and  it  was  not  uncommon  for  them  to 
draw  back  even  at  the  altar.  "  But  was  it  possible," 
he  asked, "  that  our  young  people  were  allowed  per- 
fectly unshackled  intercourse  after  the  engagement, 
without  the  eye  of  the  mother  or  any  guardian  what- 
ever." And  then,  at  my  plain  story  of  our  modes 
of  proceeding,  there  were  such  "  Mon  Dieus !"  and 
"  Dio  Mios  !"  But,  finally,  they  ended  with  an  hon- 
est and  hearty  admiration  of  tha4;  system  where  free- 
dom and  confidence  ensured  safety,  and  afforded  the 
best  chance  and  security  for  affection.  Young 
immarried  women  in  Milan,  C — i  said,  were  as 
much  secluded  as  in  Turkey.  "  They  go  from  their 
houses  to  the  theatre,  and  in  the  summer  to  their  vil- 
las. They  are  as  incapable  as  children  of  taking 
care  of  themselves ;  _you  might  as  well  send  the  Du- 


68  MILAN. 

omo  flying  through  the  air,  as  five  Italian  ladies  to 
travel  1"  "  Do  you  know,"  he  asked  me, "  how  you 
would  mstantly  be  known  in  the  streets  of  any  Ital- 
ian city  to  be  English  ?"*  "  No."  "  Because  you 
precede  your  young  ladies ;  an  Italian  lady  always 
keeps  her  protegees  under  her  eye."  Is  not  this  a 
key  to  our  relative  position  1 

We  came  all  too  soon  to  Como,  now  a  poor  little 
town  on  the  lake-side,  with  some  vestiges  of  its  for- 
mer magnificence  in  towers  and  walls,  a  rich  old  Ca- 
thedral, antique  columns,  &c.  The  approach  to  it 
is  picturesque.  The  ruins  of  a  fine  old  feudal  cas- 
tle, standing  on  an  almost  inaccessible  pinnacle,  over- 
hang it ;  but  there  is  little  left  to  remind  you  that  it 
was  once  the  rival  of  Milan. 

Madame  T.  had  arranged  our  excursion,  and 
here,  to  our  great  regret,  she  was  obliged  to  leave 
us.  But  we  are  becoming  philosophic;  we  turned 
from  our  vanishing  pleasures  to  the  lake  basking 
in  sunshine,  to  the  picturesque  little  boats  floating 
about  on  it,  and  to  a  certain  most  attractive  one 
with  a  pretty  centre-table  and  scarlet  cushions, 
which  our  cavaliers  were  deftly  arranging ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  more  we  were  in  it,  and,  rowed  by  four 
stout  oarsmen,  passed  the  gate-like  entrance  to  the 
lake,  guarded  by  statues,  and  fairly  entered  on  our 
miniature  voyage.  The  air  (November  9th !)  was 
as  soft  as  in  one  of  our  mellowest  June  evenings,  and 

*  Americans  are  for  the  most  part  merged  in  the  EngUsh  on  the 
Continent.  One  of  our  party  said  to  an  Italian,  "  But  we  are  not 
English."    *'  Ah — no ;  but  English  Americans— all  the  same." 


LAKECOMO.  69 

the  foliage  had  a  summer  freshness.  We  have  seen 
and  felt  nothing  before  like  this  Oriental  beauty, 
luxury,  and  warmth.  The  vines  are  fresh,  myrtles, 
olive,  and  fig-trees  are  intermingled  with  them ;  the 
narrow  margin  of  the  lake  is  studded  with  villas ; 
the  high  hills  that  rise  precipitously  over  it  are 
terraced;  and  summer-houses,  statues,  and  tem- 
ples, all  give  it  the  appearance  of  festive  ground, 
where  Summer,  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  holds 
perpetual  revels.  The  Alps  bound  the  horizon  on 
the  north.  There  "  winter  and  rough  weather" 
have  their  reign;  and  as  I  looked  at  their  stern 
outline  and  unrelenting  "  eternal"  snows,  they  ap- 
peared to  me  the  fitting  emblem  of  Austrian  despo- 
tism brooding  over  this  land  of  beauty  ! 

We  passed  Queen  Caroline's  villa.  These  sur- 
roundings, you  may  remember,  w^ere  the  scene  of  some 
of  the  scandal  that  came  out  on  her  most  scanda- 
lous trial ;  and  we  passed  a  lovely  residence  of  Pas- 
ta's,  where  this  woman,  who  held  the  music-loving 
world  in  thraldom,  is  living  in  happy  seclusion  on 
"  country  contentments,"  an  example  of  filial  and 
maternal  devotion.  A  beautiful  villa  belonging  to 
Count  Porro  was  pointed  out  to  us ;  and  as  I  looked 
on  its  lovely  position  and  rich  adornments,  I  felt 
what  these  noble  Italian  exiles  risked  and  lost  in 
their  holy  cause — but  not  lost !  Every  self  sacrifi- 
cing effort  in  this  cause  is  written  in  the  book  of 
life! 

We  saw  the  Pliniana,  where  the  little  rivulet 
Pliny  described  nearly  2000   years   ago  ebbs  and 


70  LAKECOMO. 

flows  as  it  did  then.*  It  gives  one  strange  sensa- 
tions to  see  one  unchanged  thing  v/here  the  world 
has  undergone  such  mutations. 

For  a  while,  my  dear  C,  we  felt  as  if  we  could 
spend  our  lives  in  floating  over  this  lovely  lake ;  do 
not  be  shocked ;  you  at  home  can  afford  for  once  to 
be  forgotten.  But,  by  degrees,  our  mortality  got 
uppermost,  the  "  meal  above  the  malt,"  our  voices 
one  by  one  died  away ;  our  superb  cavalier  looked 
a  little  qualmish ;  G.'s  gentle  current  ebbed ;  L.  laid 
her  head  on  the  table  and  fell  asleep,  and  by  the 
time  we  arrived  at  Bellagio,  twenty  miles  from  Como, 
the  shores  were  wrapped  in  a  dusky  veil,  and  we 
were  very  glad  to  exchange  our  boating-pleasure  for 
a  most  comfortable  inn. 


We  went  to  bed  at  Bellagio,  feeling  that  it  would 
be  little  short  of  presumption  to  expect  a  third 
fine  day,  and  heroically  resolving  to  be  "  equal  to 
either  fortune,"  clouds  or  sunshine.  I  confess  I  crept 
to  the  window  in  the  morning  with  dread ;  but 
there  I  saw  Venus  at  her  morning  watch  over  the 
lake,  the  sky  a  spotless  blue,  and  the  lake  as  still 
and  lovely  as  a  sleeping  child.  I  was  malicious 
enough  to  reply  to  K.'s  drowsy  interrogatory,  "  rain- 
ing again !"     But  the  morning  was  too  fine  to  be 

*  Pliny  stands  in  the  light  of  a  patron-saint  of  Como.  He  provided 
a  fund  for  the  support  of  freed  children  here.  He  instituted  a  pub 
lie  school  with  an  able  teacher,  contributed  munificently  to  its  sup 
port,  and  resigned  a  legacy  in  favour  of  the  inhabitants.  His  stat 
ue,  with  an  inscription,  is  still  here. 


Li  KE   COM  a.  71 

belied.  We  were  all  soon  assembled  in  a  little  ro^ 
sary  surrounding  the  inn ;  for  so  you  might  call  a 
court  filled  to  the  very  water's  edge  with  rose-bushes 
in  full  bud  and  flower.  We  met  our  cavaliers  pro- 
faning the  perfumed  air  with  cigars,  which,  howev- 
er, they  gallantly  discarded,  and  attended  us  to  the 
Villa  Serbelloni,  which  covers  a  hill  overhanging 
Bellagio.  It  is  the  property  of  a  gentleman  in  the 
Austrian  service  who,  serving  (according  to  the  uni- 
versal Austrian  pohcy)  far  from  his  own  country, 
leaves  the  delight  of  embellishing  and  enjoying  it 
to  a  relative.  This  gentleman  is  now  making  a  car- 
riage-road around  the  place,  and  up  a  steep  acclivity, 
where,  at  no  trifling  expense  of  course,  it  is  support- 
ed on  arches  of  solid  mason-work.  The  whole  hill 
is  converted  into  a  highly-embellished  garden  filled 
with  roses,  laurestines,  magnolias,  bays,  laurels, 
myrtles,  and  every  species  of  flowering  shrub  grow- 
ing luxuriantly  in  the  open  air.  The  aloe,  which 
will  not  bear  our  September  frosts,  grows  unscathed 
here ;  and,  as  a  proof  the  invariable  softness  of  the 
climate,  C — i  pointed  out  an  olive-tree  to  me  three 
or  four  hundred  years  old.  This  mildness  is  the  re- 
sult of  the  formation  of  the  shores  of  the  lake,  for 
within  a  few  miles  the  winters  are  severe. 

We  wandered  up  and  down  and  around  the  cha- 
teau, coming  out  here  and  there  on  the  most  exqui- 
site views.  Once  our  pleasures  were  diversified, 
not  interrupted,  by  shrieks  from  L.  I  hastened  for- 
ward and  found  her  flying  from  a  posse  of  cock- 
turkeys  that  her  crimson  shawl  had  enraged.     C. 


72  LAKECOMO. 

was  leaning  on  his  cane  and  shouting  with  laughter 
at  her  girlish  terror  at  these  *'  betes  feroces,"  and 
rather,  as  I  thought,  confederate  with  them. 

Serbelloni  is  on  a  promontory  that  divides  the  lake 
into  two  branches,  and  thence  you  have  a  view  of 
both;  of  Tremezzina  on  one  side  and  Ravenna  on 
the  other.  And,  dear  C,  it  was  in  the  morning  light, 
with  the  rose-coloured  hues  on  the  Alps,  and  villa- 
ges, villas,  and  gardens,  looking  bright  in  the  early 
day ;  morn's  "  russet  mantle"  close  drawn  here,  and 
there  the  lake  laughing  in  the  sunshine,  and  no 
sound  but  a  waterfall  on  the  opposite  shore,  or  the 
chiming  bells  of  a  distant  church.  It  was  a  scene 
of  pure  enchantment  for  us  children  of  the  cold,  ster- 
ile North !  and  you  will  comprehend  its  effect,  and 
forgive  R.  into  the  bargain,  if  I  tell  you  that,  when  I 
first  met  him  on  coming  back  into  the  "  rosary,"  he 
exclaimed,  his  feeble  frame  thrilling  with  a  sense  of 
renovation  and  delicious  beauty,  "  I  will  never  go 
back  to  America — /  cannot  P^  Nature  is,  indeed, 
here  a  tender  restoring  nurse  ! 

After  breakfast  we  left  Bellagio  (forever,  alas!) 
and  walked  through  an  avenue  of  sycamores  to  the 
Villa  Melzi.  Melzi  was  president  of  the  Cisalpine 
republic ;  but  when  Napoleon  made  the  republic  a 
kingdom,  and  assumed  its  crown,  he  made  Melzi 
Duke  of  Lodi.  The  place  has  now  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  duke's  son,  a  lad  of  eighteen.  The 
house  fronts  the  lake.  There  is  a  look  of  nature 
about  the  grounds,  and  soft  and  quiet  beauty ;  but,  as 
they  lie  nearly  on  the  level  of  the  lake,  they  are  in- 


L  A  K  E    C  0  M  0.  73 

ferior  in  picturesque  charm  to  Serbelloni.  Art  al- 
ways comes  in  in  Italy  to  help  Nature,  to  perfect 
her,  or  to  make  you  forget  her.  We  met  Beatrice, 
and  Dante,  and  other  statues  grouped  and  single, 
and  on  the  conservatory  were  busts  of  Josephine 
and  Madame  Letitia  among  many  others,  expressing 
Melzi's  homage  to  his  master.  There  is  a  chapel  at 
a  short  distance  from  the  house,  with  a  beautiful  al- 
tar-piece sculptured,  I  think,  by  Marchesi ;  and 
monuments  to  different  members  of  the  Melzi  fam- 
ily, that  either  express  some  domestic  story  or  are 
allegorical — I  could  not  make  out  which.  Of  all 
things,  I  should  like  an  ancestral  chapel,  with  the 
good  deeds  of  my  progenitors  told  in  painting  and 
stone ! 

I  will  not  make  you  follow  me  through  the  suite 
of  apartments,  beautiful  as  they  are ;  but,  just  to  get 
a  notion  of  the  refinement  of  Italian  taste,  pause  in 
the  dining-room,  where  two  little  enchanting  marble 
boys  are  standing  on  a  side-table,  the  one  with  a 
sad,  injured  countenance  holding  an  empty  bird's- 
nest  from  which  the  other,  a  little  imp  of  mischief 
and  fun,  has  rifled  the  eggs.* 

There  are  six  groups  of  children  painted  on  dif- 
ferent compartments  of  the  wall,  all  having  some 
allusion  to  dinner  viands.  In  one  a  little  rascal  is 
holding  wide  open  the  mouth  of  a  fish  as  if  to  swal- 
low a  younger  boy  who,  to  the  infinite  diversion  of 
his  merry  comrades,  is  running  away,  scared  out  of 

*  I  afterward  saw  this  trait  of  Nature  as  an  antique  bas-relief ;  I 
think  at  the  Doria  Villa  at  Rome. 

Vol.  II.—G 


74  LAKE    CO  MO. 

his  wits.  In  the  next,  one  boy  is  sustaining  another 
on  his  shoulders  that  he  may  steal  the  fruit  from  a 
basket  on  the  head  of  a  third;  and  in  the  next  a 
murderous  little  tribe  are  shooting  their  arrows  at  a 
dove  tied  to  a  tree — and  so  on  to  the  end. 

There  is  a  capital  picture  of  Napoleon  with  an  ex- 
pression of  keen  hopes,  unaccomplished  projects, 
and  unrealized  ambitions. 

From  Melzi  we  crossed  the  lake  to  Tremezzina, 
called,  from  the  extreme  softness  of  the  air  through 
the  winter,  Baise.  The  count  assured  its,  as  far  as 
climate  was  concerned,  we  might  as  well  remain 
here  as  go  to  Naples.  We  landed  at  the  Villa  Som- 
mariva,  the  crack  show-place  of  all  the  "  petits  par- 
adis"  of  Lake  Como.  We  ascended  to  the  man- 
sion by  several  flights  of  marble  steps,  with  odorous 
vines  and  shrubs  in  flower  clustering  round  the  bal- 
ustrades, and  a  fountain  at  every  landing-place,  and 
entered  a  magnificent  vestibule,  in  the  centre  of 
which  stands  a  Mars  and  Venus,  in  form,  costume, 
and  expression,  such  as  you  would  expect  to  find 
the  aborigines  of  this  land — types  of  valour  and 
love. 

The  chef  d'oeuvre  of  the  villa  is  in  this  apartment, 
one  of  Thorwaldsen's  most  celebrated  works  :  a  frieze 
in  bas-reliefs  representing  the  triumph  of  Alexander, 
but  designed  with  consummate  art  to  bear  an  obvi- 
ous allusion  to  the  most  brilliant  events  of  Napo- 
leon's life.  The  work  was  begun  by  Napoleon's 
order  -,  but,  before  it  was  finished,  he  could  neither 
be  flattered  by  its  refined  adulation  nor  reward  it 


LAKE    COMO.  75 

Count  Sommariva  purchased  it,  and  it  subsequently- 
passed,  with  the  villa,  into  the  hands  of  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Richad  who  had  been  quietly  gaining 
money  while  Napoleon  was  winning  and  losing  em- 
pires. Richad  is  dead,  and  his  only  son  has  lately 
died  intestate,  leaving  this  superb  place,  where  art 
has,  as  usual,  been  chained  to  fortune,  to  some  far- 
off  cousins,  poor  and  plebeian,  who  hardly  know  a 
bust  from  a  block  of  marble. 

Here,  in  another  apartment,  is  "  the  Palamedes," 
considered  one  of  Canova's  master-pieces.  They 
told  us  an  anecdote  of  this  that  will  please  you. 
When  Canova  had  nearly  completed  this  statue 
it  fell,  and  the  artist  just  escaped  being  crushed 
by  it.  The  statue  was  badly  mutilated,  and  Ca- 
nova at  once  WTOte  to  Sommariva  that  he  would 
make  him  another  in  its  stead.  Sommariva  replied 
that  he  would  have  this  statue  and  no  other,  and 
that  he  should  value  it  all  the  more  for  it  being  con- 
nected with  so  interesting  a  circumstance  as  the  provi- 
dential preservation  of  the  great  artist;  so,  good 
surgery  being  done  upon  it,  here  it  stands ;  a  monu- 
ment of  the  integrity  of  the  great  artist,  and  the  del- 
icacy and  generosity  of  his  employer.  Remember, 
these  are  traits  of  Italian  character,  and  that  such  inci- 
dental instances  of  virtue  are  proofs  they  are  not  quite 
the  degraded  people  prejudice  and  ignorance  repre- 
sent them.  There  are  other  beautiful  works  of  Canova 
here ;  his  Cupid  and  Psyche,  an  exquisite  personifica- 
tion of  grace  and  love,  as  innocent  as  if  it  had  been 
modelled  in  paradise  before  bad  thoughts  were  put 


76  LAKE    CO  MO. 

into  Eve's  head.  I  noticed  a  pretty  clock  designed 
by  Thorwaldsen ;  two  lovers  sleeping  with  clasped 
hands  while  time  is  passing  unheeded.  There  is  an 
Andromeda,  an  antique,  charming — ^but  I  am  not  giv- 
ing you  an  inventory — the  house  is  filled  with  works 
of  art.  Among  the  paintings,  and  the  gem  of  them 
all,  is  the  portrait  of  a  beautiful  woman  by  Leonardo 
da  Vinci — some  human  beauty  like  Laura,  and  Bea- 
trice, that  the  poetry  of  love  idealized. 

I  have  been  rather  more  particular  than  usual,  my 
dear  C,  in  my  account  of  the  Italian  villas ;  for  I 
think  it  will  rather  surprise  you,  as  it  did  me,  after 
the  chilling  accounts  we  have  read  of  the  neglected 
grounds  and  ruined  palaces  of  the  poverty-stricken 
Italians,  to  find  that  some  of  them  are  enjoying  all 
the  luxuries  of  life  in  the  midst  of  gardens  to  which 
nature,  climate,  art,  and  wealth  have  given  the  last 
touch  of  perfection. 

We  were  hardly  in  our  boat  again  when  the 
clouds  spread  like  an  unfurling  sail  over  us,  and  a 
"wind  called  Breva  came  down  from  Como,  curling 
the  lake  into  yeasty  waves.  We  were  all  shiver- 
ing, and  the  boatmen  sagaciously  proposed  we  should 
warm  ourselves  with  a  walk ;  so  we  got  out  into  the 
footpath  that  skirts  all  the  margin  of  the  lake.  It  is 
paved,  and  about  two  feet  wide,  and  kept  in  admi- 
rable order  by  the  communes  of  the  different  villa- 
ges, between  which  it  is  the  only  land  communica- 
tion, and  the  only  land  outlet  to  the  world  beyond 
Lake  Como.  The  formation  of  the  ground  does  not 
permit  a  carriage-road  ;  but  how  picturesque  is  this 


LAKECOMO.  77 

footpath,  skirting  along  villas  and  gardens,  under 
arches  and  over  stone  bridges,  and  with  vineyards 
hanging  over  your  heads.  Some  of  us,  unwilling  to 
eave  it,  walked  all  the  way  to  Como,  eight  miles ; 
a  pedestrian  feat  in  the  eyes  of  our  Italian  friends. 

Those  of  us  in  the  boat  crossed  the  lake  ag^ain  to 
pass  once  more  close  under  Pasta's  villa;  but  the 
cloudy  twilight  was  so  dreary,  and  so  rapidly  deep- 
ening, that  we  had  little  hope  of  getting  even  a 
glimpse  of  the  genius  loci.  But,  just  as  we  were 
gliding  under  her  terrace,  her  daughter  appeared  on 
it,  followed  by  another  lady.  "  E  Pasta  !  e  Pasta .'" 
exclaimed  our  bateliers  in  suppressed  voices,  thrill- 
ing with  enthusiasm,  that  none  but  Italians  in  their 
condition  would  have  felt  in  such  a  presence.  They 
suspended  their  oars,  and  we  stood  on  tiptoe,  and 
heard  a  few  accents  of  that  voice  that  has  thrilled 
millions.  It  was  in  the  harsh,  crackling  Milanese, 
hov/ever,  so  that  our  excitement  was  a  pure  homage 
to  genius. 


We  passed  the  night  at  Como,  and  took  our  last 
look  of  its  lovely  lake  this  morning.  Last  looks 
are  always  sad  ones.  In  travelling,  you  have  many 
a  love  at  first  sight — with  Nature.  You  grow  into 
sudden  acquaintance  with  material  things.  They 
are  your  friends — for  lack  of  others,  dear  C. 

The  road  from  Como  to  Milan  is  such  as  you 
would  expect  princes  to  make  for  their  own  chariot- 
wheels.     The  Austrian  government,  sparing  as  it  is 

G2 


78  MILAN. 

in  all  other  improvements  for  the  public  good,  is  at 
immense  expense  to  maintain  the  roads  in  this  abso- 
lute perfection.  After  four  or  five  weeks  of  contined 
and  drenching  rain,  there  is  not  as  much  mud  as  an 
ordinary  summer  shower  would  make  on  one  of  our 
best "  turnpikes  !"  In  many  places  the  road  is  raised 
ten  and  tv/elve  feet  above  the  level  of  the  surrounding 
ground.  There  is  a  foot-path  on  each  side,  protected 
by  granite  blocks  like  our  mile-stones,  which  occur  at 
intervals  of  twelve  or  fifteen  feet.  Each  block  costs 
seven  francs.  The  lands  here  are  possessed  by  great 
proprietors,  and  those  which  are  suited  to  the  culture 
of  the  mulberry  produce  large  profits.  Some  mul- 
berr}""  lands  are  valued  at  a  thousand  livres  the 
perche.  A  perche  is  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
square  braccia,  and  a  braccia  is  twenty-two  and  a 
half  English  inches.  An  Austrian  livre,  or  zwan- 
ziger,  is  nearly  equivalent  to  a  Yankee  shilling  (sev- 
enteen and  a  half  cents).  The  ordinary  price  of  a 
perche  is  four  hundred  zwanzigers.  The  peasants 
are  paid  by  shares  of  the  products.  We  asked  C — i, 
from  whom  we  were  receiving  this  information,  how 
the  landlord  could  be  sure  of  the  tenant's  fair  deal- 
ing. He  said  the  landlord's  right  to  send  him  adrift 
w^as  enough  to  secure  that.  A  threat  to  do  this  is 
always  effectual.  All  his  httle  world  of  associations 
and  traditions  bind  him  to  the  soil  on  which  he  was 
born.  Knowledge  opens  no  vistas  for  him  into  other 
and  richer  lands.  He  never  hears  the  feeblest  echo 
of  the  "  "march  of  improvement."  He  is  rooted  to 
the  soil,  and,  so  far  from  a  wish  to  emigrate,  no 


MILAN.  79 

prospect  of  advancement  will  induce  him  to  migrate 
from  one  village  to  another;  ejection  is  a  sen- 
tence of  death.  The  Comasques  are  peculiar  in 
their  customs.  Each  valley  has  its  trade.  An  in- 
genious man  goes  off  to  Milan  and  sets  up  his  work- 
shop. He  receives  apprentices  only  from  his  own 
valley.  As  soon  as  he  acquires  a  little  property  he 
returns  to  his  native  place  —  invariably  returns. 
Wherever  you  see  an  Italian,  in  London,  or  Paris, 
or  New-York,  hawking  little  images  about  the 
streets,  you  may  be  sure  he  comes  from  the  shores  of 
Lake  Como,  and  that  he  will  follow  his  guiding-star 
back  there.  They  return  with  enough  to  make  them 
passing  rich  in  these  poor  districts.  You  meet  men 
in  these  secluded  places  speaking  half  a  dozen  lan- 
guages. 

Each  commune  is  obliged  to  maintain  a  physician, 
a  surgeon,  and  a  midwife. 

St.  Charles  made  great  efforts  to  elevate  the  char- 
acter of  the  people,  and  C — i  imputes  the  superior 
morality  of  the  Milanese  to  other  Italians  to  this 
philanthropic  saint.  In  his  zealous  reforms  of  the 
priesthood,  he  went  to  the  source  of  Catholic  moral- 
ity. It  has  become  a  law  of  the  commune  to  main- 
tain the  schools  he  instituted ;  but  the  people  are  too 
poor  and  too  ignorant  to  profit  as  they  should  by 
them.  Without  a  theoretical  notion  of  the  effects  of 
freedom  and  property,  they  feel  that  there  is  no  ad- 
vantage in  learning  the  use  of  tools  while  they  are 
bound  hand  and  foot. 

I  told  you  they  were  maintained  by  shares  of  the 


80  MILAN. 

products.  The  extremely  low  rate  of  wages,  when 
they  receive  them,  will  show  you  how  small  their 
share  is.  A  labouring  man  is  paid  sixteen  Milanese 
sous  (seventeen  to  a  franc)  per  day,  a  woman  ten. 
and  a  child  seven.  With  this  they  find  themselves. 
Think  of  our  labourers  with  their  dollar  a  day — their 
meat  three  times  per  diem — their  tea,  and  sugar,  and 
butter,  and  what  not  ?  while  the  Milanese  peasant 
lives  on  coarse  bread  and  thin  broth,  and  only  eats 
meat  on  his  patron-saint's  day,  at  a  wedding,  or  at 
Christmas ;  and  this  is  the  gift  of  his  landlord.  One 
who  eats  rice  every  day  is  opulent,  and  he  who  eats 
meat  every  day  is  the  aristocrat  of  the  village.  The 
improvement  in  manufactures  is  putting  it  into  the 
power  of  a  few  among  them  to  wear  woollens  in  win- 
ter. But,  thank  Heaven,  their  soft  airs  wrap  them 
about  as  with  a  blanket;  and  the  cheerfulness  which 
their  delicious  climate,  and  perhaps  the  simplicity  of 
their  food,  inspire,  is  like  the  fresh  and  fruitful  young 
boughs  of  their  olives  springing  from  a  decayed  and 
sapless  stem. 

It  is  possible  the  peasant  may  derive  a  certain 
kind  of  pleasure  from  knowing  that,  politically,  he  is 
on  a  level  with  his  lord.  The  government  is,  in  one 
sense,  to  them  a  perfect  democracy — a  dead  level  of 
nothingness.  Our  proud  and  noble  friend  had  the 
same  liability  to  Austrian  conscription  as  the  mean- 
est peasant  on  his  estate,  and  his  vote  (they  do  vote 
in  municipal  affairs)  counts  no  more  than  his  who 
eats  broth  and  black  bread.  The  spirit  of  the  Mi- 
lanese gentleman  is  not  broken  down  by  ages  of  op- 


MILAN.  81 

presslon.  Very  few  among  them  court  the  favour 
of  the  Austrian  government,  or  will  accept  a  share 
in  it.  Like  the  most  intelligent  and  conscientious  of 
our  slave-holders  (and  with  far  better  reason),  they 
submit  to  the  evil  only  because  they  hold  it  to  be 
irremediable.  But  is  any  moral  evil  irremediable  to 
those  who  will  adopt  the  axiom  of  the  noble  old 
blind  man  of  Ancona,  "Nothing  is  impossible  to 
those  who  fear  not  death." 

.  C — i  believes  the  government  of  the  Lombardo- 
Venitian  kingdom  to  be  the  best  in  Italy.  He  was 
cautious  in  his  expressions,  and  went  no  farther  than 
to  say,  in  relation  to  the  newspapers  allowed  ("pnV- 
ilegiati'^^)  in  Milan,  '•  We  only  know  so  much  as  the 
government  chooses  we  shall  know.  Our  opinions 
are  our  own  while  we  keep  them  to  ourselves ;  but 
he  who  should  express  liberal  ones  would  incur  the 
risk  of  a  '  chambre  obscure.'  " 

With  our  defective  opportunities  of  personal  ob- 
servation, you  may  imagine  the  conversation  of  a 
man  so  intelligent  and  highly  informed  as  C — i,  and 
who,  from  being  the  lord  of  a  long-transmitted  in- 
heritance, has  much  practical  acquaintance  with  the 
organization  and  peculiarities  of  Italian  life,  was  a 
pleasure  to  us,  and  our  drive  seemed  to  have  been  a 
very  short  one  when  we  entered  the  gate  of  Milan, 
and  C — i  ordered  his  coachman  to  drive  on  to  the 
Corso.  The  day  was  dingy;  and,  though  there 
were  a  few  brilliant  coaches,  and  handsome  ladies 
in  them,  C — i  warned  us  not  to  imagine  we  had  any 
adequate  impression  of  this  drive,  which  is  second  in 


82  MILAN. 

display  only  to  that  of  Hyde  Park.  We  noticed  the 
viceroy's  gilded  coach  with  six  horses  drawn  up, 
w^hile  he  and  his  family  were  enjoying  the  luxury  of 
a  walk. 


Another  day  in  Milan  has  been  busily  passed 
in  visiting  the  Ambrosian  library,  where  we  saw, 
among  many  celebrated  pictures,  an  exquisite  one 
designed  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  and  finished  by  his 
pupil  Luini.  It  is  called  a  madonna,  but  is,  in  fact, 
a  prophetic  portrait  of  M.  W. ;  the  same  full,  rich 
eye  with  all  a  mother's  rapture  in  it ;  the  same  ca- 
pacity of  sympathy  with  joy  or  sorrow  expressed  in 
the  flexible  lips ;  as  unlike  as  possible  to  the  gentle, 
not  to  say  tame  madonnas  that  throng  the  galleries 
indicating  merely  placid  maternal  satisfaction. 

We  saw  papyrus  with  Vvriting  2000  years  old, 
and  notes  to  a  book  in  Petrarch's  autograph,  and 
various  other  things  that  it  is  well  to  see,  but  very 
tiresome  to  hear  about.  The  Cassino  de^  JYegoziante 
was  shown  us  by  way  of  giving  us  a  glimpse  of 
Italian  modes  of  society.  It  is  a  large  house  with  a 
series  of  apartments:  a  ball,  drawing  room,  &c., 
&c.,  where  gentlemen  and  ladies  meet  together  on 
stated  evenings  to  amuse  themselves.  All  classes 
have  these  cassinos.  They  save  the  bother  of  invi- 
tations and  intrusion  on  the  order  of  families,  and 
much  of  the  expense  of  private  entertainment. 

We  w^ent  in  the  evening,  by  his  appointment,  to 
Manzoni's.     The  Italian  seems  to  indemnify  himself 


MILAN.  83 

for  not  roving  over  the  w^orld  by  wailing  in  a  little 
world  of  his  own,  which  he  calls  a  house.  We 
were  shown  through  a  suite  of  empty  apartments 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  we  found  Manzoni, 
his  mother,  wife,  and  children,  and  all  the  shows 
and  appliances  of  comfortable  domestic  life.  Man- 
zoni is  a  little  past  fifty,  with  an  intellectual  and 
rather  handsome  face,  and  a  striking  expression  of 
goodness.  His  manner  is  gentlemanly  and  modest, 
not  shy,  as  we  had  been  told.  Indeed,  his  reputa- 
tion for  shyness  and  fondness  for  seclusion  induced 
us  to  decline  a  very  kind  invitation  to  pass  a  day  at 
his  country  place.  We  thought  it  but  common  hu- 
manity not  to  take  advantage  of  his  readiness  to  hon- 
our Confalonieri's  draft  in  our  behalf  on  his  hospi- 
tality— now  I  regret  an  irretrievable  opportunity  lost. 
He  was  cordial  in  his  manners,  and  frank  and 
fluent  in  his  conversation.  He  and  his  mother  (the 
daughter  of  Beccaria),  a  superb-looking  old  lady, 
expressed  an  intelligent  interest  in  our  country, 
and  poured  out  their  expressions  of  gratitude  for 
what  they  were  pleased  to  term  our  kindness  to 
their  exiles,  as  if  we  had  cherished  their  own  lost 
children.  I  put  in  a  disclaimer,  saying,  you  know 
how  truly,  that  we  considered  it  a  most  happy 
chance  that  had  made  us  intimately  acquainted  with 
men  who  were  an  honour  to  their  species.  Manzoni 
said  this  was  all  very  well  in  relation  to  Confaloni- 
eri ;  he  came  to  us  with  his  renown ;  but,  as  to  the 
rest,  we  must  have  been  ignorant  of  everything 
about  them  but  their  sufferings.     "  G.,"  he  said, 


84  MILAN. 

"  has  found  a  country  with  you ;  and  he  deserves  it, 
for  he  is  an  angel  upon  earth."*  When  I  respond- 
ed earnestly,  he  replied  with  a  significant  laugh, 
"  Now  that  you  know  what  our  mauvais  sujets  are, 
you  can  imagine  what  our  honest  men  must  be  !" 

Manzoni  had  not  heard  of  the  American  translation 
of  the  Prornessi  Sposi,  and  he  seemed  gratified  that 
his  fame  was  extending  over  the  New  World. 
Would  that  it  could  go  fairly  forth  without  the 
shackles  of  a  translation.  He  told  us  some  interest- 
ing anecdotes  of  Beccaria.  He  said  he  was  so  in- 
dolent that  he  never  wrote  without  being  in  some 
sort  forced  upon  it ;  that  his  celebrated  essay  on 
criminal  law  was  procured  by  the  energetic  manage- 
ment of  a  friend,  who  invited  him  to  his  house,  and 
locked  him  up,  declaring  he  should  not  come  out 
till  he  had  written  down  his  inestimable  thoughts 
on  that  subject.  Beccaria  good-naturedly  acqui- 
esced, and  the  work  w^as  actually  finished  in  this 
friendly  prison. 

"And  much  reason,"  Madame  Manzoni  (the 
elder)  said,  "  my  father  had  to  rejoice  in  it,  for  he 
often  received  letters  of  most  grateful  acknowledg- 
ment from  individuals  who  had  profited  by  the  hu- 
mane doctrines  of  his  book." 

*  I  trust  I  shall  not  appear  to  have  been  betrayed  into  publishing 
the  a^ove  by  a  petty  vanit^^  The  httle  kindness  we  have  had  the 
opportunity  of  extending  to  the  exiled  Italians  we  count  good  for- 
tune, not  merit.  It  has  been  requited  a  hundred  fold  b^  the  privi- 
lege of  their  intimate  acquaintance.  But  I  would,  as  far  as  in  my 
humble  way  I  can,  remove  the  narrow  belief  that  there  is  no  hospi- 
tality, no  gratitude  among  their  countrymen. 


BRESCIA.  85 

Our  friends  have  continued  their  kindness  to  the 
last  moment — the  whole  family,  C,  Count  C — i,  and 
dear  Madame  T.  She  urged  us  to  renounce  our 
journey  to  Venice,  and  spend  a  week  at  her  villa. 
This  was  almost  irresistible ;  but  leaving  out  Venice 
in  seeing  Italy  is  like  losing  bishop  or  castle  in  a 
game  of  chess.  So  our  bills  are  paid,  our  post- 
horses  ordered,  and  we  are  going,  feeling  as  if  we 
had  lived  a  little  life  here ;  for  we  have  made  ac- 
quaintance, and  ripened  them  into  friendships ;  we 
have  gone  out  and  returned;  we  have  eaten,  and 
drank,  and  made  merry,  and  must  noW  go  forth 
again  unknowing  and  unknown.  There  is  no  such 
lengthener  of  human  life  as  travelling. 


Brescia. — A  bright,  attractive-looking  town,  with 
thirty  thousand  inhabitants,  clean  streets,  and  fine 
old  edifices,  built  from  the  ruins  of  ancient  temples, 
and  a  rich  surrounding  country,  covered  wuth  villas, 
vines,  and  mulberries,  and  watered  by  three  rivers, 
which  are  just  now  fearfully  illustrating  the  old 
proverb,  "  good  servants,  but  bad  masters."  Italy 
has  been  anything  but  a  land  of  the  sun  to  us. 
This  morning  the  clouds  dispersed,  for  the  first  time 
since  we  were  on  Lake  Como,  and  Francois  assures 
us  that  the  priests,  who  "  know  all  about  these  mat- 
ters," pronounce  the  rain  ''  une  chose  finie."  "  La 
Sainte  Vierge"  has  been  gracious,  and  to-morrow 
she  is  to  be  unveiled  and  exhibited  to  her  worship- 

VoL.  IL— H 


86  VERONA. 

pers.  In  the  mean  time,  half  the  country  is  sub- 
merged ;  the  fearful  Po  has  burst  through  its  em- 
bankments and  overwhelmed  several  villages.  It  is 
a  pity  "  La  Sainte  Vierge"  has  been  so  slow  in  her 
compassions. 

We  have  just  been  to  see  the  "  scavi,"  or  Roman 
remains,  which,  within  the  last  twenty  years,  have 
been  discovered  and  disinterred  here.  In  1820,  the 
top  of  a  pillar  was  seen.  This  led  to  excavations, 
which  ended  in  bringing  to  upper  earth  a  temple  of 
Hercules,  a  curia,  very  beautiful  mosaic  pavements, 
richly-sculptured  altars,  a  multitude  of  busts,  shat- 
tered friezes,  and  broken  pillars,  and  a  bronze  statue 
of  Victory  of  the  best  period  of  Grecian  art.  Vic- 
tory !  I  doubt  it ;  she  has  an  expression  of  such  Di- 
vine sweetness,  as  if  she  might  weep  at  the  fantas- 
tic tricks  and  cruel  games  men  have  played  and 
called  them  victories.  This  is  the  first  time  we 
have  seen  any  striking  remains  of  Roman  magnifi- 
cence and  art,  on  the  very  spot  where  they  stood 
in  the  eye  of  those  whose  souls  were  breathed  into 
their  forms  3  and  the  first  time  is  an  epoch  in  one's 
life! 


Verona. — We  left  Brescia  this  morning  at  seven ; 
a  morning  comme  il  y  en  a  peu  nowadays.  When  I 
opened  my  blind  at  six,  Venus  hung  over  our  jessa- 
mine-imbowered  balcony,  as  brilliant  as  when  she 
kept  her  watch  at  Bellagio.  We  have  been  driving 
on  the  Via  Emilia — a  pretty  old  road,  and  kept  in 


VERONA.  87 

excellent  repair.  Our  first  halt  was  at  Desenzano, 
on  the  shores  of  the  Lago  di  Garda,  the  ancient  Be- 
nacus.  The  lake  is  nearly  enclosed  by  Alps,  and 
the  climate  is  so  softened  by  its  mountain-wall  that 
the  most  delicate  southern  fruits  are  ripened  on  its 
shores.  The  fish  of  this  lake  were  sung  by  epicure- 
poets  of  old,  and  are  quite  as  much  relished  by  the 
moderns.  Catullus,  who  was  born  at  Verona,  had 
his  favourite  villa  here,  on  the  peninsula  of  Ser- 
mione.  Its  beautiful  position  was  pointed  out  to  us. 
The  lake  preserves  the  stormy  character  Virgil  gave 
it  in  his  time.  Not  a  breath  stirred  the  leaves  as 
we  walked  along  the  shore,  and  yet  the  blue  waves 
came  with  their  white  crests  dancing  towards  us, 
and  gave  K.  rather  too  spirited  a  salutation.  Al- 
ways excepting  Como,  this  Lago  di  Garda,  with  its 
surroundings,  is  the  most  beautiful  sheet  of  water  I 
have  ever  seen.*  For  an  hour  we  drove  in  view  of 
the  lake,  and  during  the  whole  drive  we  have  had 
beautiful  objects  under  our  eyes :  a  chateau  with  its 
long  lawn  and  avenues,  a  shrine,  a  crucifix,  an  old 
wall,  a  bridge,  and  the  Alps  bounding  our  horizon. 
The  sterile  Alps,  our  guide-book  calls  them,  but  what 
is  there  on  earth  so  rich  in  beauty,  so  suggestive  to 
the  imagination  1  This  is  the  richest  part  of  Lom- 
bardy,  covered  with  mulberries  and  vines,  and 
thronging  with,  as  it  appears  to  us,  a  healthy  popu- 
lation, full  fed  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.     The 

*  I  had  not  then  been  to  Bevay  and  Montreux,  nor  seen  the  lake 
of  Luzerne  ;  but  each  has  its  peculiar  charm  that  is  not  lessened  by 
comparing  it  to  another. 


88  VEROJfA. 

children  are  stout  and  rosy,  with  masses  of  bright 
curling  hair.  The  women  are  tall  and  well-develop- 
ed, and  the  old  people  so  old  that  one  would  think 
they  must  themselves  have  forgotten  they  were  ever 
young — the  last  thing  they  do  forget.  But  they 
are  never  "  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  reposing  age" 
— never  cease  from  their  labours.  We  see  even  the 
very  old  women,  with  their  gray  heads  bare  or  cov- 
ered with  a  fanciful  straw  hat,  driving  asses  and 
leading  cows  on  the  highway.  Whenever  our  car- 
riage stops  there  are  plenty  of  beggars  around  us, 
but  they  are  for  the  most  part  sick  or  maimed. 
Comparing  the  peasantry  of  Savoy  with  that  here, 
this  climate  would  seem  to  be  bed  and  board  to 
them. 

The  first  object  that  struck  our  eyes  on  entering 
Verona  was  a  very  curious  old  bridge  over  the  Adige, 
and  from  that  moment  till  we  reached  our  inn  we 
kept  up  a  choral  exclamation  at  the  piazzas,  the  fa- 
mous old  palaces,  the  immense  houses,  half  as  high 
as  the  Alps,  and  at  the  heavy  stone  balconies. 

Verona,  a  powerful  city  in  the  time  of  the  Romans, 
and  so  distinguished  in  the  middle  ages  when  the 
bold  lords  of  the  Scala  family  ruled  its  destinies,  has 
now  dwindled  down  to  a  population  of  50,000.  To 
me  it  bears  a  charmed  name,  as  recalling  the  time 
when,  a  child  of  seven  years,  I  sat  down  on  the  car- 
pet by  the  "  old  bookcase"  to  read  "  the  Two  Gen- 
tlemen of  Verona,"  the  only  one  of  Shakspeare's 
plays  now  to  me  unreadable.  But  Juliet  is,  to  every 
English-blooded  traveller,  the  genius  loci  of  Verona  3 


VERONA.  89 

Juliet,  that  sweetest  impersonation  of  the  universal 
passion  whose  mortality  Shakspeare  has  converted 
into  immortality,  and  fixed  her  shrine  here.  We  set 
off  in  a  half  hour  after  our  arrival,  with  a  dirty, 
snuffing  old  valet  de  place  (I  have  an  antipathy  to 
the  best  of  the  genus),  to  see  the  locales  of  the 
"  sweet  saint."  The  palace  of  the  Capulets,  so  call- 
ed, is  a  gloomy,  dark  old  rack-rent  edifice,  now  a  hos- 
tlerie !  We  were  conducted  through  an  arched  way 
into  a  court  lumbered  v;ith  carts  loaded  with  wine- 
casks.  The  ''  balcony"  was  half  way  to  heaven, 
where  poor  Juliet  needed,  in  truth,  a  "  falconer's 
voice"  to  be  heard  by  her  lover.  The  garden,  we 
were  told,  was  beyond  the  court,  but  we  saw  no 
"  orchard-wall,  high  and  hard  to  climb,"  that "  Love's 
light"  wings  alone  might  pass,  and  we  were  eager 
to  get  away  before  imagination  should  lose  forever 
the  power  of  recalling  the  orange  groves  and  myr- 
tle bowers,  the  passionate  girl  in  the  balcony,  the 
lover  in  the  garden,  and  the  moon  "  tipping  with  sil- 
ver all  those  fruit-tree  tops." 

We  drove  half  a  mile  beyond  the  gate  to  the  old 
Franciscan  monastery  where  tradition  has  placed  the 
tomb  of  the  Capulets;  and  here,  in  a  dreary  gar- 
den, we  were  shown  the  spot  where  the  tomb  was. 
And  alas  for  the  disenchantments  that  yet  awaited 
us !  A  servitora  unlocked  something  very  like  a 
barn-door,  and  admitted  us  into  something  very  like 
a  barn,  where  she  showed  us  an  open  stone  sarcoph- 
agus of  Verona  marble,  which,  she  assured  us,  con- 

H2 


90  VERONA. 

tained  Juliet's  body  when  it  was  removed  from  the 
garden  to  this  place  for  safe  keeping.  There  was  a 
stone  pillow  for  her  head,  and  a  socket  for  a  candle, 
which  it  is,  to  this  day,  the  custom  of  the  Veronese 
to  place  lighted  in  the  coffin.  There  were  two  holes 
drilled  for  ventilation,  probably  to  admit  air  enough 
to  support  the  flame. 


In  the  heart  of  the  city,  enclosed  by  an  iron  railing 
of  most  delicate  workmanship,  are  the  tombs  of  the 
Scala  family.  When  all  records  are  lost  but  Shaks- 
peare's,  which  will  undoubtedly  outlive  all  others, 
these  may  be  shown  for  the  tombs  of  the  Capulets. 
There  are  monuments  curiously  sculptured,  with 
marble  sarcophagi  and  effigies.  Three  are  more 
elaborate  than  the  rest,  and  these  run  up  into  pinna- 
cles and  are  surmounted  with  statues,  an  equestrian 
one  overshadowing  the  rest.  "This,"  our  cicerone 
said,  "  was  of  the  greatest  lord  of  Verona."  It 
should  then  be  of  Cane  della  Scala.* 

There  is  an  amphitheatre  here  built  of  blocks  of 
stone  without  cement,  and  as  early  as  Trajan's  time, 
which  is  in  admirable  preservation.  Napoleon  re- 
paired it  in  excellent  tast6,  so  that  it  now  appears 
quite  perfect.     It  can  accommodate  25,000  persons. 

*  "  The  first  of  the  Lombard  princes,  he  protected  the  arts  and 
sciences ;  his  court,  the  asylum  of  all  the  exiled  Ghibelines,  drew  to- 
gether the  first  poets,  painters,  and  sculptors  of  Italy.  There  are 
still  at  Verona  glorious  monuments  of  the  protection  he  extended  to 
architecture.  But  war  was  his  favourite  passion,"  &ic.—Histoire  des 
Repnbliques  Italiennes. 


JOURNEY   TO   PADUA.  91 

I  have  not  half  finished  the  sight-seeing  of  this  crowd- 
ed afternoon,  but  I  spare  you. 

K.  and  I  returned  from  a  truant  stroll  in  the  morn- 
ing in  time  to  swallow  our  breakfasts,  and  to  re- 
monstrate against  an  over-charge  in  our  bill :  a 
hateful  task  that  falls  to  my  share,  and  often  makes 
me  regret  the  days  when  I  went  on  like  a  lady,  qui- 
etly paying  prices,  and  scarcely  knowing  them. 
But  we  have,  in  truth,  little  to  complain  of.  The 
inn-charges  are  seldom  extravagant ;  and  as  to  im- 
positions strictly,  I  think  we  rarely  meet  with  them. 
Good  policy  has  arranged  these  matters  on  these 
great  high-roads.  We  poorer  Americans  must  pay 
the  rates  which  luxurious  English  travellers,  who 
"  lard  this  lean  earth,"  have  introduced. 


Padua. — We  have  now  travelled  nearly  across  the 
Lombardo-Venitian  kingdom.  The  posting,  which  all 
over  the  Continent  is  a  government  monopoly,  is  well 
arranged,  but  much  dearer  than  in  Germany.  The 
German  postillion  is  the  least  civilized  of  Germans, 
but  the  Italian  is  still  lower  in  the  scale  of  humani- 
ty. His  horses,  too,  are  inferior  in  size  and  muscle, 
but  they  seem  to  have  a  portion  of  the  spirit  of  their 
masters,  and  travel  more  fleetly  than  the  heavy 
German  horse. 

Though  we  are  on  the  verge  of  winter,  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  country  are  manifest.  Roses  are 
yet  blooming.  At  the  post-stations  women  throng 
to  our  coach- windows  with  waiters  filled  with  grapes, 


92  JOURNEY     TO     PADUA. 

pears,  apples,  and  nespoli.  The  people  are  all  out 
of  doors,  women  spinning  by  the  road-side,  combing 
their  hair,  and  performing  other  offices  that  we  at 
all  seasons  reserve  for  in-doors.  We  stopped  at  Vi- 
cenza,  which  is  now  a  town  of  some  30,000  inhab- 
itants, long  enough  to  see  some  of  the  best  produc- 
tions of  Palladio,  one  of  the  celebrated  architects  of 
Italy,  who  lived  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  was 
born  here.  All  Northern  Italy  is  embellished  by  his 
designs  and  works.  I  am  no  critic  in  these  matters, 
but  a  too  lavish  profusion  of  ornament  seems  to  me 
to  characterize  them.  The  work  esteemed  his  mas- 
ter-piece is  at  Vicenza.  It  is  called  the  Olympic 
Theatre,  and  was  built  precisely  on  the  model  of  the 
ancient  Greek  theatre,  that  the  Vicenzans  might  get 
a  precise  idea  of  the  mode  of  Grecian  dramatic  ex- 
hibitions. The  scenery  is  a  fixture  representing  the 
entrance  of  a  Greek  town  and  the  openings  into 
seven  different  streets,  where  you  see  houses,  tem- 
ples, and  triumphal  arches.  The  stage  is  not  much 
larger  than  a  generous  dining-table.  Then  there 
are  Corinthian  columns  and  row^s  of  statues  extend- 
ing all  around  the  theatre.  There  are  fourteen 
ranges  of  seats  for  the  spectators ;  and  with  all  this 
lavishment  of  genius,  art,  and  money,  there  have 
been  but  two  exhibitions  here,  one  for  the  emperor, 
and  one  for  his  viceroy.  You  will  agree  with  me 
that  Palladio  might  have  spent  his  time,  and  the  Vi- 
cenzans their  money,  better  than  on  this,  after  all, 
mere  toy.  The  private  houses  here  are  most  richly 
ornamented  with  architectural  embellishments.    Pal- 


PADUA.  93 

ladio  was  one  of  the  few  prophets  honoured  in  his 
own  country. 


The  inhabitants  of  Padua  have  dwindled  down  to 
55,000  :  about  three  times  the  number  of  the  stu- 
dents it  once  gathered  within  the  walls  of  that  ven- 
erable university  where  Galileo  lectured.  The  ex- 
terior wall  of  the  university  is  covered  with  busts  in 
bas-reliefs,  escutcheons,  and  various  sculpture,  illus- 
trating the  men  who  have  been  distinguished  here. 

Petrarch,  you  know,  was  born  at  Arqua,  in  this 
neighbourhood,  and  was  a  canon  in  the  church  here, 
where,  if  one  may  judge  by  the  zeal  with  which 
every  memorial  of  him  is  cherished,  his  love-sonnets 
were  not  considered  uncanonical.  There  is  a  picture 
of  the  Madonna  at  the  Cathedral  presented  by  him. 
There  was  a  curtain  over  it ;  our  servitora  said,  "  If 
the  ladies  commanded,  it  should  be  uncovered."  We 
were  so  disgusted  with  this  contrivance  to  exact  a 
fee,  this  covering  up  a  picture  from  its  worshippers 
to  uncover  it  to  the  gaze  of  heretics  for  a  paltry  hire, 
that  we  declined  the  offer.*  We  saw  in  the  sacristy 
a  bust  of  Petrarch  and  a  portrait  painted  by  his  con- 
temporary Ciambellini. 

*  We  were  not  long  in  learning  to  smile  at  our  own  pharisaical 
Quixotism,  and  to  discard  it.  The  best  pictures  in  the  Italian 
churches  are  veiled,  that  they  may  be  "ne'er  seen  but  wondered 
at"  by  the  devout,  and  ne'er  seen  but  paid  for  by  the  stranger,  be 
he  heretic  or  orthodox.  And  certainly  it  is  just  the  possessor  should 
derive  an  income  from  such  a  capital,  and  the  sight  of  the  picture 
is  worth  ten  times  the  trifling  sum  it  costs. 


94  PADUA. 

We  have  a  strange  feeling  in  this  old  world,  dear 
C,  as  if  the  dead  of  all  past  ages  were  rising  to  life 
on  every  side  of  us.  We  saw  in  the  hall  of  justice 
here,  a  noble  hall  300  feet  long,  and  adorned  with 
frescoes  by  Giotto,  a  bust  of  Titus  Livius,  which  was 
disinterred  in  the  environs  of  this  his  native  city. 
The  Roman  remains  and  memorials  in  Lombardy  are 
comparatively  few;  and  it  is  not  to  the  days  of  Ro- 
raan  dominion  that  the  mind  recurs,  but  to  the  period 
of  Italian  independence.  You  perceive  in  these  rich 
plains  of  Lombardy  the  source  in  nature  of  the  indi- 
vidual life,  vigour,  and  power  of  the  free  Italian  cit- 
ies, in  these  warm  plains  completely  irrigated,  and 
producing  without  measure  corn,  wine,  and  the  mul- 
berry-tree, those  surest  natural  sources  of  wealth. 
And  you  perceive  still,  in  the  noble  physiognomy  of 
the  people,  the  intellectual  character  that  made  Italy 
the  seat  of  art,  literature,  commerce,  and  manufac- 
tures, while  civilization  had  scarcely  dawned  on  the 
rest  of  Europe.  W^ith  what  feelings  must  idle, 
shackled,  impotent  Italy  look  back  on  those  days 
when  her  looms  were  sending  their  gorgeous  fabrics 
wherever  there  was  money  to  pay  for  them ;  when 
her  envoys  could  truly  declare  in  Eastern  courts  that 
they  saw  nothing  there  more  luxurious  than  they 
had  seen  in  the  palaces  of  their  native  princes ;  the 
days  when  their  historians,  their  poets,  and  their 
painters  were  creating  works  for  all  posterity.  These 
w^ere  the  days  when  Milan  and  Brescia,  Verona,  Vi- 
cenza,  and  Padua,  and  all  the  rest  of  their  glorious 
company,  were  republics ;  when  freedom  was  so  dear^ 


JOURNEY    TO   VENICE.  95 

ly  prized  that  it  was  an  axiom  that  "  blessed  were 
those  that  died  for  hberty  and  their  country ;"  when 
an  insolent  imperial  letter  was  torn  from  a  herald's 
hands  and  trampled  under  foot;  w^hen  a  beautiful 
matron,  in  a  famishing  town,  with  her  infant  in  her 
arms,  who  had  subsisted  for  days  on  boiled  leather, 
offered  the  nourishment  in  her  breast  to  a  fainting 
soldier,  that  he  might  up  and  "  do  or  die ;"  when 
Milan,  with  her  houses  razed  to  the  ground,  and  her 
inhabitants  driven  forth,  again  rose  and  successfully 
resisted  imperial  aggression.  And  now  Austrian 
soldiers  keep  the  gates  of  these  cities,  and  say  who 
shall  enter  and  who  depart.  No  wonder  that  the 
Italian's  heart  burns  within  him,  that  the  noblest 
spirits  are  torpid  with  despair,  languish  in  prison,  or 
are  driven  into  exile. 


Venice,  JVovemher  18. — There  are  three  posts 
(about  seven  miles  each)  from  Padua  to  Venice. 
The  usual  boundaries  of  land  and  water  are  so 
changed  by  the  overflowings  of  the  rivers,  that  I 
fear  we  are  getting  no  very  accurate  notions  of  the 
face  of  the  country  in  its  ordinary  condition.  You 
are  conscious  you  are  approaching  a  city  that  gather- 
ed to  itself  the  riches  of  the  world,  and  whose 
market  converted  marshy  lands  into  gardens,  vine- 
yards, and  golden  fields.  There  are,  what  we  have 
not  seen  elsewhere,  pleasant-looking,  isolated  cotta- 
ges, with  thatched  and  conical  roofs,  and  an  infinity 
of  villages,  churches,  chapels,  and  magnificent  villas, 


96  JOURNEY    TO   VENICE. 

whose  grounds  appear  like  drawing-rooms  pretty 
well  filled  with  poetic  gentlemen  and  ladies,  dressed 
and  undressed  artistically.  In  sober  truth,  there  are 
many  more  statues  out  of  doors  here  than  you  see 
people  wath  us  in  the  finest  w'eather.  The  houses 
are  magnificent,  many  built  after  the  designs  of  Pal- 
ladio,  and,  like  everything  of  his,  prodigally  orna- 
mented ;  they  are  surrounded  wath  high  walls,  with 
arched  stone  entrances  and  iron  gates,  with  statues 
at  the  gates,  and  statues  on  the  walls  at  short  inter- 
vals. 

The  roses  are  still  in  bloom,  though  the  trees  are 
nearly  stripped  of  their  leaves.  Last  night,  for  the 
first  time,  we  had  a  slight  frost.  At  Fusina,  a  mis- 
erable little  town,  infested  with  beggars,  postillions, 
douaniers,  and  loungers,  screaming,  and  racketing, 
and  racking  us,  we  left  our  carriage  and  embarked 
in  a  gondola.  Yes,  dear  C,  a  gondola,  which,  all 
our  heroic-poetic  associations  to  the  contrary  not- 
withstanding, is  the  most  funereal-looking  affair  you 
ever  saw  afloat.  They  are  without  exception  cov- 
ered by  a  black  aw^ning,  first  imposed  by  a  sumptu- 
ary law  of  the  republic,  and  maintained,  probably, 
by  the  suruptuary  laws  of  poverty. 

Venice  is  five  miles  from  Fusina,  and,  seen  from 
thence,  appears  like  a  city  that  has  floated  from  its 
moorings,  and,  while  distance  lends  its  "  enchant- 
ments to  the  view,"  still  like  a  queen  "  throned  on 
her  hundred  isles,"  or,  rather,  as  its  proud  represent- 
ative, who  refused  his  oath  of  adhesion  to  Henrv 
VII.,  said,  as  if  it  were  "  a  fifth  essence,  belonging 


VENICE.  97 

neither  to  the  Church  nor  the  emperor,  the  sea  nor 
the  land !"  Nature,  too,  lent  us  her  enchantments ; 
the  sun  setting,  as  we  crossed  the  Lagoon,  coloured 
the  Rhsetian  Alps  with  rose  and  purple  hues,  which 
the  waves  that  played  around  our  gondola  reflected, 
while  the  pale  moon  hung  over  the  Adriatic.  I 
cannot  describe  to  you  the  sensation  of  approaching 
such  fallen  greatness  as  that  of  Venice.  It  is  as  if 
a  "  buried  majesty"  appeared  to  you  from  the  dead. 
We  passed  in  silence  the  magnificent  Piazza  St 
Marco,  and  were  landed  at  the  steps  of  the  Hotel 
Reale,  formerly  the  Palazzo  Bernardo. 


We  went  in  the  twilight  last  evening,  my  dear 
C,  to  the  piazza,  passed  the  ducal  palace  and 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  to  get  the  feeling  that  we 
are  actually  in  Venice;  and  in  this  piazza,  sur- 
rounded, as  you  are,  by  magnificent  and  unimpair- 
ed objects,  it  is  not  difficult  to  realize  Venice's 
past  wealth  and  splendour ;  it  is  only  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  it  is  'past.  There  is  the  Church  of  St. 
Mark,  unithig  Oriental  magnificence  with  Moorish 
architecture  and  Christian  emblems ;  its  facade  em- 
bellished with  ecclesiastical  history  written  in  mo- 
saic;* and  over  its  principal  arched  entrance  the 

*  At  least  that  little  episode  in  the  history  of  the  church  is  de- 
picted here  which  relates  to  the  transfer  of  St.  Mark's  body  from 
Alexandrea  to  Venice.  The  first  scene  represented  is  the  pious  fraud 
enacted  by  the  Christians  when  they  hid  the  body  of  their  saint  in  a 
basket  under  piles  of  pork,  from  which  the  Mussulmans  are  repre- 
sented as  recoiling.    The  story  ends  with  the  last  Judgment.    St. 

Vol.  II.—I 


98  VENICE. 

four  horses  of  Lysippus,  the  seeming  insignia  of  vic- 
tory, so  often  have  they  tramped  over  the  world  at- 
tached to  the  victor's  car.  These  mute  images  put 
the  greatness  and  the  httleness  of  the  world  and  its 
players  into  striking  antithesis.  They  were  the  em- 
blems of  Corinth's  glory,  of  Rome's,  of  Constantino- 
ple's, of  Venice',  and  of  Napoleon's.  Their  king- 
doms, their  glory,  and  their  generations  have  passed 
away,  and  here  these  four  brazen  horses  stand  un- 
scathed! Three  sides  of  the  piazza  are  surrounded 
with  very  handsome  edifices,  with  arcades  gay  wdth 
shops  and  cafes.*  On  the  fourth  is  a  space  open  to  the 
sea,  called  the  piazzetta  (small  piazza).  On  one  side 
of  this  is  the  very  beautiful  facade  of  the  ducal  pal- 
ace ;  a  mixture,  I  believe,  of  Gothic  and  Moorish  ar- 
chitecture, but  so  unlike  anything  European  that  we 
have  seen,  and  so  like  architectural  pictures  of  the 
East,  that  we  seemed  at  once  to  have  passed  into 
the  Asiatic  world.  Near  the  water  stand  two  gran- 
ite columns,  one  surmounted  by  the  lion  of  St.  Mark, 
the  other  by  the  statue  of  a  saint.  Both  these  -col- 
umns were  brought  from  the  East,  and  are  trophies  of 
the  conquests  of  the  republic  in  the  eleventh  century. 
Opposite  the  ducal  palace  is  another  palace  of  beau- 
tiful architecture,  and  beside  it  the  campanile,  the 

Mark's  Gospel,  said  to  be  written  by  his  own  hand,  is  among  the 
treasures  of  the  church.  "The  Venetians  chose  St.  Mark,"  says 
M.  Sismondi, "  patron  of  their  state,  his  hon  figured  in  their  arms,  and 
his  name  in  their  language  whenever  they  designated  with  peculiar 
affection  their  country  or  government." 

*  Over  these  cafes  and  shops  the  nobles  once  had  luxurious  casi- 
nos, where  they  indulged  in  every  species  of  pleasure. 


VENICE.  99 

same  on  which  Galileo  stood  to  make  his  observa- 
tions. "  This  is  Venice !"  we  said,  as,  after  gazing 
for  a  half  hour  on  this  unimpaired  magnificence,  we 
turned  to  go  to  our  hotel ;  but  our  illusion  vanished 
when  we  looked  off  upon  the  water,  and  saw  but 
here  and  there  a  little  boat,  where  there  were  once 

"  Argosies  bound 
From  Tripolis,  from  Mexico,  and  England, 
From  Lisbon,  Barbary,  and  India!" 


I  WENT  before  breakfast  this  morning  to  St.  Mark's, 
and,  as  I  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door  to  look 
up  at  the  figure  of  the  saint  on  a  ground  of  blue 
and  gold,  two  persons,  sinners  I  am  sure,  drew  my 
eyes  and  thoughts  from  him.  They  were  young 
men  who  appeared  as  if  they  had  that  moment  land- 
ed from  some  piratical  expedition.  The  one  was 
looking  about  him  vvith  a  careless  curiosity ;  there 
w^as  a  wild,  savage  desolation  about  the  other  I  nev- 
er can  forget ;  his  face  was  bronzed,  and  his  tangled 
locks  stood  out  as  if  they  were  of  iron.  I  met  his 
quick,  glancing  eye,  but  I  am  sure  he  did  not  see 
me,  nor  anything  in  the  world  around  him ;  the  gor- 
geous ceiling,  the  Oriental  marbles,  the  costly  altars, 
pictures,  bronzes,  were  to  him  as  if  they  were  not, 
and  on  he  strode  as  if  he  were  on  a  sea-beach, 
straight  through  the  kneeling  congregation,  not  paus- 
ing till  he  reached  the  steps  before  the  high  altar, 
when  he  threw  himself  prostrate  on  them,  and  seemed 
as  if  he  would  have  buried  his  face  in  the  marble. 


100  VENICE. 

The  people  were  passing  up  and  down,  jostling  him, 
treading  on  him ;  he  moved  no  more  than  if  he  had 
been  struck  dead  there.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
could  hear  the  cry  from  his  soul,  "  God  be  merciful 
to  me  a  sinner !"  and  not  till  the  mass  was  over,  when 
he  rose,  with  an  expression  somewhat  softened  and 
calmed,  and  taking  his  companion,  who  had  been 
listlessly  staring  about,  by  the  arm,  and  hastened 
away,  could  I  see  anything  but  him ;  and  when  I 
did  look  around  upon  this  most  gorgeous  of  Chris- 
tian temples,  enriched  as  it  is  with  the  spoils  of  Can- 
dia,  Cyprus,  and  the  Morea,  it  seemed  poor  indeed 
compared  with  the  worth  of  this  sinning,  suffering, 
and  penitent  spirit ;  for  so  I  am  certain  it  was. 

Few  churches  are  so  enriched  with  historical  as- 
sociations as  St.  Mark's.  It  was  here  that  the  sub- 
jection of  imperial  to  papal  power  was  consumma- 
ted by  the  dramatic  exhibition  of  the  humiliation 
of  Frederic  Barbarossa  to  Pope  Alexander,  when 
the  emperor  prostrated  himself  before  his  holiness 
and  suffered  him  to  plant  his  foot  upon  his  neck.* 
The  history  of  this  church  from  the  time  it  was  a 
chapel — a  mere  appendage  to  the  ducal  palace — 
would  be  a  history  of  Venice.f 

*  This  most  abject  circumstance  in  Frederic's  humiliation  is,  I 
suspect,  an  interpolation  of  the  papal  legendaries.  M.  Sismondi,  the 
most  reliable  of  historians,  merely  says,  "  He  (the  emperor)  threw 
aside  his  cloak,  prostrated  himself  before  Alexander,  and  kissed  his 
feet."  The  foot  upon  the  neck  was,  however,  too  picturesque  a  cir- 
cumstance to  be  lost,  and  do  a  Venetian  painter  has  given  it  perpe- 
tuity in  a  splendid  picture  Which  hangs  in  the  ducal  palace. 

t  It  was  here  that  one^f  the  finest  scenes  in  the  great  drama  of 
the  crusades  was  enacted,  when  the  heroic  Henry  Dandolo,  blind, 


VENICE.  101 

We  have  been  over  the  ducal  palace,  up  the 
"Giant's  Stairs,"  and  the  golden-roofed  staircase, 
and  through  the  immense  halls  whose  ceilings  and 
walls  are  embellished  by  Tintoretto,  Paul  Veronese, 
and  Titian,  with,  to  me — I  am  profane,  or,  perhaps, 
most  ignorant  to  say  so  —  uninteresting  pictures. 
The  portraits  of  the  doges,  which  hang  below  the 
cornice,  encircling  one  apartment,  are  not  so.  They 
are  all  there  excepting  one,  and  on  the  tablet  where 
that  should  be  is  painted  a  black  veil^  with  an  in- 
scription to  signify  that  this  was  assigned  to  Ma- 
rino Faliero !  Poor  old  man !  Byron  has  painted 
his  picture  there ;  and  those  who  see  it  beneath 
the  black  veil  scarcely  look  at  the  120  others.  The 
doges  have  passed  away,  and  you  meet  here  only 
tourists,  to  whom  the  ciceroni  are  explaining,  in  a 
semi-barbarous  dialect,  the  painted  histories  of  their 
reigns  and  triumphs. 

We  went  out  of  the  palace  on  to  the  "  Bridge  of 

and  ninety-four  years  old^  addressed  the  crowds  of  Venetians  and 
crusaders,  royal,  noble,  and  plebeian,  who  were  assembled  in  St. 
Mark's,  "  Lords,"  he  said,  "  you  are  of  the  first  gentry  in  the 
world,  and  banded  together  for  the  noblest  cause  men  ever  under- 
took. I  am  a  feeble  old  man  who  need  repose  ;  but  ill  fitted  as  is  my 
body  for  the  service,  I  perceive  there  is  none  who  can  so  well  lead 
and  govern  you  as  I  who  am  your  lord.  If  you  will  suffer  that  I 
take  the  cross  to  watch  over  and  teach  you,  and  that  my  son  remain 
to  guard  the  land,  I  will  go  forth  to  live  and  die  with  you  and  with 
the  pilgrims."  And  when  this  was  heard,  "  Yes,"  they  cried  all 
with  one  voice  ;  "  and  we  pray  God  also  to  permit  that  you  come  forth 
with  us  and  do  it."  This,  with  many  more  particulars,  may  be  found 
in  the  touching  language  of  the  old  chronicler  in  M.  Sismondi's  Ital- 
ian Republics, 

I  2 


102  VENICE. 

Sighs"  and  to  the  prisons  of  the  Inquisition  j  for,  as 
you  know, 

"  There  is  a  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand." 

We  went  into  the  dungeons  on  a  level  with  the  sea ; 
those  below  its  level  were  destroyed  forever  by  the 
French  revolutionists  who,  in  their  days  of  madness, 
did  this  among  many  other  righteous  deeds. 

The  curiosities  of  prisons  are  horrors,  and  I  shall 
not  detail  to  you  those  that  were  shown  us,*  but 
leave  them  all  for  the  cell  where  we  saw  the  inscrip- 
tion which  Lord  Byron  copied,  and  which  you  may 
recollect  in  the  notes  to  his  Childe  Harold.  Our  ci- 
cerone, who  was  of  a  calibre  very  superior  to  most 
of  his  craft,  read  the  lines  with  Italian  taste  and 
grace,  and  told  us  that  Lord  Byron  had  taken  the 
pains  to  retrace  and  deepen  them,  "  Yes,  with  his 
ovyii  hand.'^f 


20th. — We  have  been  all  the  morning  in  our  gon- 

*  These  hideous  prisons  are  not  more  than  six  or  seven  feet 
square,  with  mud  floors,  and  a  grating  a  few  inches  in  length  and 
breadth,  which  opens  into  a  gallery,  into  which  the  only  ray  of  light 
that  ever  came  was  from  the  torch  of  the  turnkey,  when,  once  a  day, 
he  brought  the  prisoner  his  food.  The  French,  when  they  came  to 
Venice,  found  a  man  in  oneof  these  cells  who  had  been  there  for  four- 
teen years.  They  set  him  free,  and  carried  him  in  procession  through 
the  grand  piazza.  The  poor  wretch  was  struck,  blind,  and  died  in 
two  or  three  days  ! 

t  I  was  sorry  afterward  to  hear  this  man  agreeing  v/ith  a  hard-fa- 
voured wretch  in  calling  Silvio  Pellico  a  "menteur,"  and  maintain- 
ing that  he  had  never  been  in  "  the  leads,"  which,  by-the-way,  they 
spoke  of  as  "  beawe  prisons." 


VENICE.  103 

dola.  We  first  rowed  through  the  grand  canal, 
which  is  bordered  for  two  miles  by  churches  and 
palaces;  affecting  memorials  of  the  rise,  dominion, 
perfection,  decay,  desertion,  and  death  of  "  Venice ;" 
a  death  so  recent  that  the  freshness  and  beauty  of 
life  has  not  quite  passed  away.*^  A  few  of  these 
palaces  are  still  in  the  possession  and  occupancy  of 
their  noble  families,  but  wherever  you  see  one  in  its 
original  splendour  (and  most  splendid  they  are)  you 
see  the  collar-mark  upon  it, "  Provinzie  di  Venezie/^ 
indicating  that  it  is  appropriated  to  the  officers  and 
purposes  of  the  Austrian  government.  For  the 
most  part  they  are  dilapidated,!  with  broken  glass, 
parchment  panes,  and  indications  that  they  are  de- 
graded to  base  uses. 

As  we  passed  the  Foscari  palace  we  saw  a  Ve- 
netian washing,  patched  calico  gowns  and  all  man- 
ner of  trumpery  drying  over  the  massive  and  sculp- 
tured stone  balconies  of  that  princely  home,  to  be- 
hold which  once  more  an  exiled  son  of  the  house 
risked  and  lost  his  life.  Nearly  opposite  this  palace 
is  that  which  Byron  occupied ;  its  location  may  have 
suggested  the  tragedy  of  "  The  two  Foscari."  And 
what  painful  and  pleasant  remembrances  did  his  res- 
idence suggest  to  us  as  we  passed  under  its  balcony 

*  "The  foundation  of  Venice  preceded  by  seven  centuries  the 
emancipation  of  the  Lombard  cities,  and  its  fall  was  three  centuries 
after  the  subjection  of  Florence."  Truly  it  had  a  long  life  of  power 
and  glory. 

t  We  were  told  they  would  be  taken  down,  and  small,  tenantable 
houses  built  from  their  materials,  but  for  an  order  of  the  Austrian 
government  forbidding  it,  why,  I  know  not,  unless  they  wish  to  pre- 
serve them  as  a  trophy. 


104  VENICE. 

and  thought  of  Moore's  groping  his  way  through  the 
dark  hall  after  Byron,  while  he  called  out,  "  Keep 
clear  of  the  dog  !  take  care,  or  that  monkey  will  fly 
at  you !"  and  his  droll  exclamation  as  they  stood 
together  on  the  moonlit  balcony, "  DonH  be  poetical, 
Tom  !"  and,  alas  !  of  the  mock-tragic  drama  enacted 
here  by  his  Formarina,  and  of  other  episodes  in  his 
life  that  he  must  have  wished  to  blot  out,  and  of 
which  those  who  admire  and  pity  him  must  wish  his 
biographer  had  spared  the  record.  Byron's  is  the 
greatest  and  best  known  of  English  names  in  Italy. 
Some  of  the  Venetian  palaces  still  contain  treas- 
ures of  art.  In  the  Palazzo  Barbarigo,  where  Titian 
long  lived,  and  where  he  died,  there  is  a  gallery 
called  "  Scuola  di  Tiziano.''''  Here  we  saw  a  Mag- 
dalen, the  last  he  ever  painted,  and  the^r^^,  I  think, 
ever  painted.  It  belongs  to  the  highest  class  of 
that  intellectual  painting  which  reveals  the  secrets 
of  the  soul.  You  see  a  woman  who  has  been  for^ 
given  much  because  she  loved  much;  a  voluptuary 
by  nature  and  a  saint  by  grace ;  and  you  feel  as- 
sured, from  the  depth  and  calmness  of  her  feelings, 
that  she  will  sin  no  more.  The  old  woman  who 
showed  us  the  gallery,  and  who,  in  her  progress, 
had  poured  out  the  usual  quantity  of  a  cicerone's 
superbas !  and  magnificas  !  said,  "  Other  pictures 
have  their  prices ;  this  is  priceless  !"  We  have 
seen  other  pictures  by  Titian  in  Venice  which  seem 
to  me  to  come  into  the  same  category,  truly  to  be 
"  priceless,"  the  Assumption  (called  his  masterpiece), 
where  the  loveliest  cherubs,  alias  winged  Italian 


VENICE.  105 

children,  are  floating  in  a  wreath  of  clouds  around 
her ;  or  the  Sacrifice  of  Isaac,  on  the  ceiUng  of  the 
sacristy  in  Santa  Maria  della  Salute.  The  beautiful 
boy  is  bending  over  the  pile,  awaiting  the  stroke, 
with  an  expression  of  most  dutiful  obedience,  and 
something  more ;  there  is  a  trustfulness,  as  if  he  felt 
his  father  could  not  do  him  wrong.  The  angel  ap- 
pears with  a  blended  expression  of  Divine  authority 
and  human  sympathy,  and  you  fed  the  command 
which  he  eagerly  utters,  and  which  the  awe-struck 
patriarch  has  turned  to  receive, "  Lay  not  thine  hand 
upon  the  lad  !"*  This  picture  is  a  lyric  poem ;  but 
for  the  epics  of  the  "  Venetian  school,"  with  their 
architecture  and  landscape,  their  complication  of 
action  and  variety  of  character,  their  groups  of  men, 
w^omen,  and  children,  Jews,  infidels,  and  brutes,  it 
requires  more  artistic  education,  and  far  more  time 
than  we  have,  to  comprehend  and  enjoy  them. 

The  Rialtof  is  a  stone  bridge  over  the  grand  ca- 
nal, and  in  its  material  of  stone  and  mortar  precisely 
what  it  was  when  merchants  there  "  most  did  con- 
gregate." But  the  princely  merchants,  who  unlock- 
ed and  locked  at  pleasure  the  golden  gates  of  the 
East,  have  disappeared,  and  in  their  places  are  peo- 

*  After  seeing  Titian's  masterpieces,  one  enjoys  the  old  story  of 
Charles  Fifth's  reproof  of  his  nobles'  scorn  of  his  plebeian  favourite. 
"  I  can  create  with  a  breath  a  hundred  dukes,  counts,  and  barons, 
but,  alas !  I  cannot  make  one  Titian !" 

t  I  do  not  understand  why  the  name  Rialto  is  used  merely  to  des- 
ignate the  bridge.  "  It  was  in  809,"  says  M.  Sismondi,  "  that  the  Ve- 
netians made  choice  of  the  little  island  of  the  Rialto,  near  which  they 
assembled  their  fleet,  with  their  collected  wealth  on  board,  and  built 
the  city  of  Venice,  the  capital  of  their  republic." 


106  VENICE. 

pie  walking  up  and  down  between  the  rows  of  mean 
shops,  hawking,  in  the  loudest  and  most  dissonant 
tones,  tortone  (a  famous  species  of  candy),  cakes, 
fish,  and  like  fancy  articles.  An  old  Jew  sleeping 
in  the  shadow  of  the  bridge,  over  whom  we  stum- 
bled as  we  got  out  of  our  gondola  for  a  moment,  re- 
called my  poetic  associations  with  the  Rialto;  but 
to  retain  them  undisturbed  one  should  not  see  it. 
The  bridge  is  a  high  arch,  and  the  street  on  each 
side  of  it  is  of  course  continued  over  it  between  the 
mean  one-story  shops  which  are  built  on  it.  The 
bridge  has  two  other  broad  passages  between  the 
shabby  rear  of  the  shops  and  its  balustrades,  and 
thus  encumbered  and  defaced  is  the  aspect  it  pre- 
sents as  you  approach  it  on  the  canal. 


We  visited  the  Arsenal  as  a  memorial  rather  than 
an  actual  existence.  Its  silent  forges  and  empty  mag- 
azines only  serve  to  impress  you  with  the  vast  com- 
merce and  power  of  the  fallen  republic.  It  occupies 
an  island  three  miles  in  circumference,  and  has  the 
aspect  of  an  independent  fortress.  The  winged  lion, 
brought  from  the  Piraeus  of  Athens,  still  guards  its 
entrance,  but  you  know  too  surely  that  his  teeth  and 
claws  are  gone  by  his  watchdogs  in  Austrian  uni- 
form.*    We  passed  along  a  portico  lined  with  every 

*  These  gentry  refused  entrance  to  our  courier ;  service  being  a 
disqualifier  for  such  privilege  here,  as  colour  is  in  our  enlightened 
country.  We  trust  these  shadows  will,  ere  long,  pass  quite  off  the 
civilized  world. 


VENICE.  107 

species  of  workshop  relating  to  ship-building — all  si- 
lent now — and,  crossing  through  a  spacious  dock- 
yard where  there  w^ere  a  score  or  two  of  galley- 
slaves  in  long,  clanking  chains,  working  under  the 
surveillance  of  other  slaves  in  a  different  uniform  and 
without  chains,  called  gens  d'armes,  we  entered  the 
model-room.  There,  among  a  vast  variety  of  curi- 
ous things,  we  saw  an  exact  miniature  of  the  gal- 
ley in  which  the  doges  were  accustomed  to  per- 
form the  ceremony  of  their  espousals  witli  the  Adri- 
atic. It  is  of  a  most  graceful  form,  its  exterior  gild- 
ed and  embossed  with  devices  illustrative  of  the  his- 
tory of  Venice.  The  canopy  is  of  crimson  velvet; 
Venice,  "  a  proud  ladye,"  sits  in  the  prow  with 
Peace  at  her  feet  and  the  scale  of  Justice  in  her 
right  hand.  In  the  stern  is  the  throne  of  the  doge, 
and  at  its  back  an  opening  through  which  he  threw 
the  wedding-ring  to  his  sea-bride.  Opposite  the 
throne  sits  Time,  with  his  admonitory  scythe  and 
hourglass.  When  this  was  rigged,  with  four  stal- 
wart Venetians  at  each  crimsoned  and  gilded  oar,  it 
must  have  been  a  pretty  show  ! 

We  were  shown  an  immense  hall  filled  with  tro- 
phies, banners,  and  weapons  of  all  their  conquered 
enemies.  Christians  and  Turks,  and  halls  filled  with 
Venetian  armour ;  and,  among  other  curiosities,  a 
very  entertaining  collection  of  the  Inquisition's  in- 
struments of  torture ;  some  among  them  ingenious 
and  perfect  enough  to  have  been  forged  in  the  lower 
regions.  Ah,  cruelty  has  ever  gone  hand  in  hand 
with  power,  my  dear  C. 


108  VENICE. 

The  perfect  repose,  the  indolent  luxury  of  a  gon- 
dola has  not  been  exaggerated.  I  cannot  convey  to 
you  a  notion  of  the  delight  of  its  soft  cushions  and 
gliding  motion  after  a  two  hours  of  such  tedious 
sight-seeing  as  we  had  at  the  arsenal ;  it  puts  you 
into  that  delicious  state  between  waking  and  sleep- 
ing, between  the  consciousness  of  fatigue  and  cares, 
and  the  unconsciousness  of  oblivion. 

We  were  rowed  out  to  an  island  in  the  sea,  San 
Lazzaro,  to  see  the  Armenian  convent  and  college, 
whose  foundations  were  laid  long  ago  by  an  Arme- 
nian who  bought  the  island,  and  instituted  a  school 
here  for  his  countrymen.  The  pupils  receive  a  learn- 
ed education  for  various  professions.  The  college  has 
a  printing-press,  and  prints  books  in  forty  or  fifty 
different  languages.*  A  large  revenue  is  realized 
from  their  sale.  We  were  conducted  about  the  in- 
stitution by  a  very  intelligent  and  courteous  Ar- 
menian priest,  and  we  encountered  some  fine  old 
Eastern  people  with  long,  silvered   beards.     The 

*  Lady  Morgan  fancied  if  there  were  a  free  press  in  the  world,  it 
must  be  "  the  ocean-press  of  San  Lazzaro ;"  and  she  relates,  in  her 
best  manner,  ber  conversation  with  the  librarian,  who  asserted  it 
was  a  free  press.  She  asked  if  he  would  print  a  book  for  her  that  re- 
quired a  "very  free  press."  "Certainly,"  he  replied;  "any  book 
that  her  ladyship  might  write,"  "  What,  if  she  should  speak  ill  of  the 
Emperor  of  Austria  ?"  "  Certainly  not."  "  Might  she  have  a  hit  at 
his  holiness  ?"  this  was  worse  still.  Unwilling,  she  says,  to  lose  her 
game,  she  started  the  grand  seignior.  "  The  grand  seignior  was  a 
powerful  neighbour."  "  In  a  word,  it  was  evident,"  she  concludes, 
"that  the  press  of  San  Lazzaro  was  just  as  free  as  the  Continental 
presses  of  Europe,  where  one  might  print  freely  under  the  inspec- 
tion of  two  or  three  censors  !" 


VENICE.  109 

young  men  were  extremely  handsome.  As  you  go 
east  and  south  the  beauty  of  the  human  race  im- 
proves ;  there  is  a  richer  colouring  and  more  spirit, 
more  of  the  sun's  light  in  the  eyes. 

Our  conductor  showed  us  the  room  in  vi^hich 
Byron  received  his  lessons  "  when  his  lordship  took 
the  whirriy^  he  said, "  to  study  Armenian,  and  to  swim 
across  to  us  from  the  Lido  !" 

As  we  were  rowing  homeward,  a  Venetian  gen- 
tleman who  accompanied  us  pointed  out  the  Canali 
degli  Orfani,  where  bodies  are  thrown  which  any 
one  wishes  quietly  to  dispose  of.  "  Fishing  here," 
he  said, "  is  forbidden,  lest  it  should  lead  to  unpleas- 
ant discoveries !" 


Our  hotel  was  so  full  on  the  first  day  of  our  arri- 
val in  Venice  that  we  could  only  get  dismal  apart- 
ments in  the  rear,  where  we  felt  as  if  more  than  the 
ducal  palace  had  a  prison  attached  to  it.  But  the 
following  morning  w^e  w^ere  transferred  to  a  superb 
suite  of  apartments  in  front,  looking  out  upon  the 
sea,  which  have  to  us  a  charm  from  having  been  oc- 
cupied by  the  Countess  Confalonieri  when  she  was 
suing  for  her  husband's  pardon,  with  long-deferred 
and  finally  baffled  hope,  to  the  Austrian  court.  I  am 
alone,  the  family  being  all  at  the  opera,  and  I  have 
just  been  standing  in  the  balcony  looking  at  the 
moon,  w^hich  is  pouring  a  flood  of  light  through  this 
clear  atmosphere  down  upon  the  sea.  In  her  efful- 
gence Orion  is  but  dimly  visible.     I  can  look  up  to 

Vol.  II.— K 


110  VENICE. 

the  familiar  objects  in  the  heavens,  and  almost  forget 
my  distance  from  you ;  but  the  painful  sense  returns 
as  I  bring  my  eyes  to  earth,  for  oh !  how  different  is 
this  earth  from  ours !  There  is  the  splendid  Church 
of  San  Georgio  with  her  tall  campanilla,  and  Santa 
Maria  della  Salute  with  her  cupolas,  and  here  are 
gondolas  gliding  out  of  the  little  canal  into  the  Giu- 
decca,  and  others  gliding  in  and  out  among  the  ves- 
sels that  lie  at  anchor  in  the  harbour.  On  my  right 
is  the  ducal  palace  and  prison ;  I  cannot  see  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  but  it  is  almost  within  my  touch,  so 
near  that  I  feel  the  atmosphere  that  surrounds  it,  and 
am  glad  to  be  cheered  by  the  lively  voices  of  a 
merry  troop  that  are  passing  on  to  the  piazzetta,  and, 
as  that  sound  dies  away,  to  hear  the  delicious  voice 
of  a  cavalier  in  a  gondola,  who  is  singing  for  his 
own  pleasure — and  certainly  for  mine. 


We  hear  so  much  of  the  gondola  in  Venice  that 
we  almost  forget  there  is  "  solid  earth  for  tread  of 
feet,"  though  for  the  most  part  artificial.  After  pass- 
ing the  greater  part  of  five  delicious  days  in  a  gon- 
dola, I  went  this  morning,  the  beginning  of,  alas ! 
our  last  day  in  Venice,  to  the  Rialto  on  foot,  that  I 
might  see  something  of  the  terra-firma  of  this  singu- 
lar town.  There  is  nothing,  I  beheve,  in  the  world 
like  the  streets  of  Venice ;  streets  they  can  scarcely 
be  called,  nor  lanes,  nor  alleys,  for  they  have  not 
the  peculiarities  of  either.  They  are  lined  by  such 
lofty  houses,  that,  excepting  at  noonday,  a  ray  of 


VENICE.  Ill 

the  sun  never  reaches  them ;  no  wheel  turns  in  them, 
no  horse's  hoof  treads  over  them.  They  are  inter- 
sected by  the  canals,  and  filled  with  petty  shops 
that  in  no  wise  recall  the  time  when  Venice  was  the 
mart  and  channel  of  the  productions  of  the  East 

The  manners  of  the  tradespeople  are  civil,  but 
not  obsequious  or  obtrusive.  They  have  the  gener- 
al Italian  habit  of  asking  one  price,  and  offering  to 
take  the  half  of  it,  "  for  the  pleasure  of  serving  ma- 
dame,"  or  "  to  make  a  beginning,"  or  for  some  other 
ready  and  most  reasonable  reason  !*  We  bought 
on  the  Rialto  some  trifling  specimens  of  the  exqui- 
sitely fine  gold-chain  work  done  here,  a  pendant  for 
the  Brussels  lace  manufacture.  These  gold  chains, 
some  fabrics  of  beads,  and  some  rather  curious  but 
inferior  glass  manufactures  (all  that  remain  of  the 
unrivalled  Venetian  glass-works),  are  now  the  only 
products  peculiar  to  Venice. 


We  have  merely  seen  the  outside  of  things  here. 
Our  only  acquaintance,  a  Venetian  exquisite,  who 
seems  not  to  suspect  there  is  any  but  an  outside  to 
life,  could  give  no  very  enlightening  answers  to  our 
many  questions.  In  reply  to  an  inquiry  about  the 
education  of  women,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
said,  "  9a  commence !"  So  I  suppose  they  are  about 
as  well  instructed  as  they  were  in  Byron's  time  here, 

*  It  is  to  be  earnestly  desired  that  our  tradesmen  should  not  yield 
to  the  temptation  of  ihis  habit,  which  most  certainly  leads  to  a  dep- 
raTation  of  mercantile  morality. 


112  JOURNEY     TO     FERRARA. 

when,  as  you  may  remember,  a  conversation  turning 
upon  Washington,  a  learned  lady  asked  "  if  he 
were  not  the  man  killed  in  a  duel  by  Burke." 

I  asked  our  acquaintance,  when  we  were  passing 
the  mad-house,  which  looked  very  like  a  prison,  "  if 
the  patients  were  well  taken  care  of."  "  Assez 
bien"  ("  Well  enough"),  he  replied,  stroking  his 
mustache.  "  Luck  is  a  lord."  We  had  our  for- 
tune at  Milan  5  we  must  take  the  turn  of  the  wheel 
here.* 


Ferrara,  Nov.  24. 

My  dear  C, 
We  are  seldom  annoyed  in  Italy  with  any  appa- 
rent dissatisfaction  in  the  people  we  employ.  The 
servants  at  the  inns,  coachmen,  valets  de  place, 
&c.,  &c.,  are  all  paid  by  fees.  They  have  a  pride 
or  self-respect  which  prevents  their  murmuring 
when  they  are  not  content.f  There  is  a  monstrous 
disproportion  between  the  wages  of  people  and 
the  fees ;  for  instance,  a  labourer  working  out  of 

*  I  perhaps  owe  an  apology  for  publishing  the  above  meager  no- 
tices of  Venice.  Where  there  is  most  to  be  said  it  is  very  difficult 
to  say  a  little  well.  We  spent  five  beautiful  days  in  going  in  our 
gondola  from  sight  to  sight,  in  visiting  churches  and  palaces.  Our 
dawns  and  twilights  were  passed  at  St.  Mark's,  within  two  minutes' 
walk  of  our  hotel.  Of  course,  we  accumulated  immense  lists  of 
things  which  are  mere  lists,  and  have  been  well  expanded  by  a  hun- 
dred tourists  who  have  preceded  us. 

t  This  remark  does  not  apply  to  Southern  Italy.  All  such  deli- 
cacy has  vanished  long  before  you  reach  Naples,  where  "  poor  Ohver 
asks  for  more,'  till  it  would  become  ludicrous  if  it  were  not  most 
pitiable. 


JOURNEY     TO     FERRARA.  113 

doors  all  day  gets  ten  sous,  and  your  waiter,  who 
gives  you,  perhaps,  two  or  three  hours  of  very 
light  work,  expects  two  francs  from  each  person, 
which,  from  a  party  of  six,  amounts  to  two  dollars 
and  thirty  cents  per  day.  We  made  a  deduction  from 
this  at  the  Hotel  Reale,  and  our  garqon,  who  sport- 
ed his  Venetian  gold  chain,  was  "  tres  mecontent.^^ 

So  was  not  our  gondolier  friend,  Andrea  Donaio. 
He  has  attended  us  all  day,  the  best  of  gondoliers, 
the  most  sagacious  and  prompt  of  cicerones.  As 
we  came  away,  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stone 
staircase,  hat  in  hand,  in  his  close-fitted,  scarlet- 
corded  dress,  his  fine  black  hair  waving  off  his 
bronzed  temples;  his  sound  white  teeth  shown 
off  by  a  kindly  smile.  I  told  him  how  glad  we 
should  be  to  see  him  some  bright  day  in  New- York, 
and  his  "  Grazie,  signore,"  and  "  Buon  viaggio,  es- 
sallenza !"  were  the  last  words  we  heard  as  we  got 
into  our  gondola  to  pass  for  the  last  time  before  the 
prisons,  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  the  ducal  palace,  the 
piazza,  and  all  its  magnificent  accompaniments,  into 
the  Giudecca. 

Andrea's  wishes  were  vain.  We  have  had  a  dis- 
mal journey  hither.  As  we  left  Venice,  the  ram 
came  on  again,  and  has  continued;  the  rivers 
are  still  rising,  and  menacing  the  country  with  de- 
struction. You  can  hardly  imagine  anything  more 
frightful  than  the  aspect  of  the  Valley  of  the  Po  at 
this  moment.  The  course  of  the  river  is  through  a 
flat  country.  Deposites  of  slime  and  gravel  from 
year  to  year  have  so  raised  its  bed  that,  to  prevent 

K2 


114  JOURNEY     TO     FERRARA. 

it  from  submerging  the  adjacent  land,  dikes  have 
been  erected ;  and  as  the  level  of  the  river  has  ris- 
en, the  dikes  have  been  raised  higher  and  higher, 
till  now  the  river,  at  its  ordinary  level,  is  in  some 
places  thirty  feet  higher  than  the  land  on  the  other 
side  the  embankment.  Whenever  the  river  rises 
three  feet  above  its  usual  level,  great  alarm  is  felt, 
and  guards  are  placed  with  proper  instruments  ready 
to  repair  the  slightest  breach  in  the  dike.  As  we 
passed  along  the  road  on  the  top  of  the  embank- 
ment, the  brimming,  muddy  river  was  rushing  furi- 
ously on  one  side  of  us,  and  on  the  other,  many 
feet  below  us,  lay  villages  and  farm-houses,  those 
on  the  lowest  ground  half  under  water,  and  all  ap- 
pearing as  if  they  might  at  any  moment  be  swal- 
lowed up.  At  intervals  of  a  few  yards  along  the 
road  there  were  tents  of  matting,  saturated  with  a 
forty  days'  rain,  and  under  each  two  watchmen,  peas- 
ants, stretched  on  the  wet  ground,  their  enemy  on 
the  one  side,  and  their  menaced  homes  on  the  other, 
■with  an  anxiety  and  despair  in  their  faces  that  ex- 
pressed how  hopelessly  they  opposed  themselves  to 
the  unbridled  elements. 

Poor  fellov7s,  their  case  is  a  hard  one !  The  win- 
ter-grain is  so  soaked  that  it  is  certain  it  must  all  be 
rotted.  In  our  thinly-peopled  land,  where  the  fail- 
ure of  one  year's  crops  is  but  a  disappointment,  you 
can  hardly  imagine  the  effect  of  such  a  disaster 
where  the  fullest  supplies  are  in  fearful  disproportion 
to  the  consumption.  The  streets  of  Ferrara  to-day 
are  crowded  with  people  whose  homes  were  under 


JOURNEY    TO    FERRARA.  115 

"water ;  1500  are  provided  for — being  drowned !  It 
is  said  that  the  King  of  Piedmont  and  the  Duke  of 
Tuscany,  fearing  the  consequences  of  the  despair  of 
their  people,  have  aheady  made  liberal  appropria- 
tions for  their  relief.  I  hope  they  may  have  been 
instigated  by  a  better  motive  than  fear.  The  virtue 
called  forth  by  physical  evil  is  its  only  satisfactory 
solution.* 

We  were  to  cross  the  Po  at  the  barrier  of  the 
pope's  dominions,  and  here,  at  their  very  portal,  we 
had  a  charming  illustration  of  the  imbecility  of  the 
papal  government,  the  most  imbecile  in  Italy.  The 
ferry  appertains  to  his  holiness.  There  was  no  boat 
on  our  side  of  the  river  ;  and  though  the  postillions, 
gens  d'armes,  and  loungers  shouted  at  the  very  top 
of  their  voices,  no  answer  was  returned ;  at  last  we 
despatched  a  row-boat,  and  after  an  hour  we  saw  a 

*  The  following  anecdote,  which  I  afterward  heard  from  Mr.  W.  at 
Florence,  may  appear  to  others,  as  it  did  to  me,  an  illustration  of  the 
above  remark.  While  we  were  looking  at  the  superb  Strozzi  palace 
Mr.  W.  said,  "  The  head  of  this  house,  the  marquis,  was  on  his 
country  estates  during  the  distress  on  the  Po  last  autumn.  Seeing 
some  persons  on  the  roof  of  a  house  in  instant  danger  of  being 
swept  off,  he  offered  a  large  sum  to  some  boatmen  if  they  would  go 
to  the  rescue.  The  peril  was  too  great,  and  they  refused.  He 
doubled  his  offer,  they  still  refused — they  had  wives  and  families, 
they  said.  '  Would  they  go  if  he  would  go  with  them  V  *  Yes,  they 
would  do  anything  the  Padrone  would  do.'  The  marquis  wrote  a 
few  lines  to  a  friend  and  embarked  with  them.  At  tremendous 
hazard  they  succeeded  in  their  enterprise.  By  some  mistake  the 
note,  which  was  only  to  have  been  opened  in  case  the  marquis 
did  not  return,  was  read,  and  was  found  to  contain  instructions 
that,  in  case  his  companions  should  be  lost,  their  families  should  be 
provided  for  from  his  estate."  When  I  was  at  Florence  this  same 
marquis  was  spending  his  time  driving  four  in  hand  and  philandering 
fine  ladies.    Truly,  calamities  have  their  uses. 


116  FERRARA. 

sluggish  machine  destined  for  our  transport,  and  mo- 
ving as  though  it  moved  not.  It  was  drawn  by  a 
rope  attached  to  horses  on  the  shore  a  mile  and  a 
half  up  the  river,  and  then  dropped  down  the  current 
to  us.  After  infinite  difficulty,  with  pushing,  pulhng, 
and  hoisting,  and  the  din  of  twenty  Italians  who 
were  all  helping  and  all  helpless,  our  heavy  carriage 
was  got  on  board  the  boat,  and  we  were  landed 
safely  on  the  other  side,  and  were  charged  by  his 
holiness's  servants  for  these  admirable  facilities  six 
dollars. 

Ferrara  is  a  dearly  fine  old  city,  with  immense, 
unoccupied  houses,  and  wide,  grass-grow^n  streets, 
looking  little  lilce  the  seat  of  the  independent  and 
proud  house  of  Este.  Its  chief  interest  to  us  results 
from  its  being  the  home  of  our  friend  Foresti,  whose 
character  does  it  more  honour  than  all  this  princely 
house  from  beginning  to  end.  Byron,  you  remember, 
says  of  Italy,  "  their  life  is  not  our  life — their  moral 
is  not  our  moral."  This  is  but  in  part  true.  There 
is  a  moral  that  is  universal ;  and  wherever  man  ex- 
ists, in  savage  or  in  civilized  life,  he  renders  an  in- 
stinctive homage  to  such  an  uncompromising  pursuit 
of  justice  and  love  of  freedom  as  Foresti  has  mani- 
fested in  persecution,  in  prison,  in  bonds,  and  under 
sentence  of  death.  I  believe  that  if,  at  this  moment, 
his  youth,  country,  and  high  position  could  be  re- 
stored to  him,  with  his  experience  of  sixteen  years  of 
chains  and  most  dreary  imprisonment,  he  would 
again  sacrifice  all,  and  suffer  all  over  again  in  the 
same  cause — such  is  the  uncrushahle  material  of  his 
noble  character. 


PERRARA.  117 

Well,  here  we  are,  in  the  midst  of  his  family  and 
friends.     One  of  them,  a  man  of  letters,  Signor  B., 
called  immediately  after  breakfast,  and  attended  us, 
first,  to  the  casino,  where  300  persons,  the  gentry 
of  Ferrara,  who  are  its  proprietors,  meet  every  even- 
ing ;  and,  unless  there  is  a  ball,  or  they  are  other- 
wise particularly  well  amused,  adjourn  to  an  adjoin- 
ing theatre ;  truly,  "  their  life  is  not  our  life."     We 
next  went  to  St.  Anne's  Hospital,  once  a  monastery, 
and  now  converted  to  the  really  Christian  purpose  of 
sheltering  the  sick   and  insane.      The  insane  are 
under  the  care  of  a  distinguished  man  of  science, 
and,  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  a  genuine  philan- 
thropist.    We  have  been  told  to-day  many  anec- 
dotes of  him,  from  which  we  infer  that  his  organ  of 
benevolence,  like  our  honoured  friend  Woodward's, 
has  a  particular  development  for  the  management  of 
mad  people.*     The  "  minister  to  the  mind  diseased," 
in  our  Puritan  land,  takes  his  patients  to  church ; 
the  Italian  professor  conducts  them  to  the  theatre — 
the  universal  panacea  in  Italy ;  K.  says,  "  the  con- 
forto  and  ristoro  of  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor." 
The  different  modes  of  proceeding  are  nationally 
characteristic:  both  prove  that  excitement,  proper- 
ty administered,  is  healthful  and  not  hurtful  to  the 
insane  patient. 

We  were  shown  the  cell  of  the  hospital  in  which 
Tasso  was  imprisoned.     Our  old  custode  had  a  loyal 

*  He  uses  the  same  enlightened  means,  substituting  truth,  gen- 
tleness, and  persuasion  for  manoeuvring,  sternness,  and  authority. 
We  saw  some  of  the  incurables  quietly  basking  in  the  sunshine  in  a 
pleasant  garden. 


118  FERRARA.  # 

feeling  for  the  house  of  Este,  and  would  fain  have 
us  believe  that,  dismal  as  the  place  appeared  to  us, 
it  was  quite  a  pleasant  residence  in  Tasso's  time, 
with  one  lookout  upon  a  street  and  another  upon  a 
garden  I  There  was  as  much  common  sense  as  ge- 
nius in  Byron  shutting  himself  up  in  this  cell  to  write 
his  "  Lament  of  Tasso."  He  w^as  sure  to  find  the 
actual  locale  of  suffering  innocence  and  kindred  ge- 
nius a  heated  furnace  for  his  imagination. 

The  old  man  told  us  some  particulars  of  Lord 
Byron's  visit,  and  showed  us  his  name  written  by 
himself  in  deep-cut  characters.  "  Under  Lord  By- 
ron's name,"  he  said,  "  was  that  of  his  Segretario 
Samuel  Rogers."  We  all  smiled,  recurring  at  once 
to  Mr.  Rogers,  as  we  had  recently  seen  him,  with 
his  own  poetic  reputation,  surrounded  by  the  respect 
that  waits  on  age,  heightened  into  homage  by  his 
personal  character;  and  K.  expostulated,  and  tried 
to  enlighten  the  old  man's  ignorance — but  in  vain. 
Byron's  is  the  only  English  name  that  has  risen, 
or  ever  will  rise,  above  his  horizon,  and  "  the  *S'e^- 
retario^^  must  remain  a  dim-reflected  light. 

B.  escorted  us  to  his  house,  where  we  were  kind- 
ly received  by  the  signora,  and  admitted  to  the 
studio  of  her  son,  who  has  just  received  a  prize  at 
Florence  for  miniature  painting.  They  showed  us 
some  exquisite  pictures  of  his  execution,  upon  which 
I  said,  "  You  are  a  fortunate  mother  to  have  a  son 
of  such  genius."  "  Ah !"  she  replied,  "  but  he  is  so 
good — so  good !"  This  does  indeed  make  the  for- 
tunate mother.     In  this  country  of  art,  my  dear  C, 


#  FERRARA.  119 

the  painter's  studio  is  a  sort  of  museum.  Young  B.'s 
occupied  several  apartments  containing  pretty  casts, 
and  the  walls  were  covered  with  sketches,  studies 
of  anatomy,  engravings,  and  paintings. 

B.,  the  father,  gave  us  various  works  of  his  own 
writing  :  a  work  on  botany,  tragedies,  and  transla- 
tions from  Byron.*  He  is  an  enlightened  man, 
and  a  first-rate  hater  of  priests  and  kings.  Inde- 
fatigable as  all  are  who  have  the  hard  fortune  to 
take  our  caravan  in  train,  he  accompanied  us  to  the 
green  square,  where  there  has  been  recently  placed 
a  colossal  statue  of  Ariosto  on  a  beautifully-sculptur- 
ed white  marble  pillar,  with  this  comprehensive  in- 
scription :  "  A  Ludovico  Ariosto  la  Patria."  Multum 
in  parvo  !  is  there  not  1  The  Jesuits  made  a  furious 
opposition  to  the  erection  of  the  statue,  being  no 
lovers  of  Ariosto,  or  favourers  of  any  homage  to 
secular  eminence.  They  wished  to  put  the  statue  of 
his  holiness  on  the  pillar,  and  wrote  to  Rome  for  a 
decree  to  that  effect ;  but,  before  the  answer  came, 
the  wits  of  Ferrara  had  outwitted  them.  By  dint  of 
working  night  and  day  the  statue  had  been  placed 
on  its  lofty  pedestal ;  and  buried  under  it  is  a  histo- 
ry of  the  controversy,  and,  as  B — i  said,  "  milles 
belles  choses^'  of  the  Jesuits,  which,  when  time  shall 

*  Signer  B.  said,  "  If  men  write  in  Italy,  it  is  to  get  a  name,  or  for 
the  love  of  it ;  there  is  no  pecuniary  compensation.  Divided  as  we  are 
into  thirteen  states,  there  is  no  protection  for  literary  property."  If 
most  authors  are  to  be  believed,  this  should  not  lessen  the  number  of 
books.  They  write  merely  to  enlighten  or  improve  their  public  ! 
Scott  is  one  of  the  few  authors  who  has  had  the  honesty  to  avow 
that  getting  money  was  a  distinct  motive  for  writing. 


120  FERRARA.  • 

have  knocked  down  the  column,  will  serve  to  en- 
lighten posterity  as  to  the  history  and  true  character 
of  the  bigots.  In  the  mean  time,  the  poet  stands,  as 
he  did  in  life,  high  above  his  fellows. 

As  a  natural  sequence,  we  visited  a  house  which 
Ariosto  built,  and  where  he  lived  and  died.  The 
room  in  which  he  wrote  has  a  fine  bust  of  him  on 
one  side,  and  on  the  other  the  following  inscription : 
"  Ludovico  Ariosto  in  questa  camera  scrisse  e  ques- 
ta  casa  da  lui  abitata  edificb ;  laquale  280  anni 
dopo  la  morte  del  divino  poeta  fii  da  Girolamo  Ci- 
cognara  podesta  co'  denari  del  commune  compra  e 
ristaurata  perche  alia  venerazione  delle  genti  se 
mantenesse."*  Next  to  the  possession  of  greatness 
is  the  sentiment  that  reverences  it,  and  this  you  find 
everywhere  in  Italy.  The  door  of  Tasso's  prison 
and  that  to  Ariosto's  room  have  been  well  chipped 
for  relics. 

B.  conducted  us  to  the  cemetery,  an  old  monastic 
establishment,  wTested  from  the  priests  after,  as  he 
said,  a  "  guerre  a  mort^^  and  converted  to  the  good 
purpose  of  burying  the  dead  instead  of  the  living. 
The  long  perspective  of  the  cloisters  is  beautiful. 
Many  of  the  monks'  cells  are  converted  into  family 
vaults,  and  decorated  with  monuments,  frescoes,  and 
bas-reliefs.  One  large  apartment  is  appropriated  to 
"  the  illustrious  men  of  Ferrara." 

*  "  Ludovico  Ariosto  wrote  in  this  room  ;  and  this  house,  built  and 
inhabited  by  him,  was  280  years  afterward  bought  and  restored  by 
Girolamo  Cicognara  with  the  commune's  money,  that  it  might  be 
preserved  for  the  veneration  of  mankind." 


FERRARA.  121 

We  had  a  scene  in  the  twilight,  which  I  can  best 
describe  to  you,  my  dear  C,  by  copying  K.'s  ac- 
count of  it  from  her  journal.  She  says,  "  What  was 
my  astonishment,  when  I  came  into  the  drawing- 
room,  to  find  Uncle  R.  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  his 
face  covered  with  his  hands.  Aunt  L.  leaning  on  the 
mantlepiece  also  in  tears.  Aunt  K.  holding  the  hand 
of  a  lady  in  black,  who,  with  vehement  gestures, 
was  pouring  out  a  rapid  succession  of  broken  sen- 
tences, and  L.  and  M.  looking  on  in  most  solemn 
silence.  Aunt  K.  seized  me,  and  said,  '  This  is  Fo- 
resti's  sister.  Tell  her  how  much  he  is  beloved  and 
respected  in  New-York — tell  her  we  try  to  make 
him  feel  he  has  a  home  among  us.'  As  well  as  I 
could  I  played  my  part  of  interpreter,  and  Teresa, 
in  a  voice  interrupted  by  many  sighs  and  tears,  tried 
to  express  her  gratitude,  but  exclaimed  every  few 
minutes  in  a  paroxysm  of  anguish,  stretching  out 
her  arms,  '  lo  non  so  piu  parlare ;  non  so  piu  far  al- 
tro  che  piangere  e  pregar  la  mia  Madonna  !'  Ta- 
king up  her  black  gown,  she  said, '  Questo  e  un  abito 
di  voto ',  I'ho  messo  quando  era  in  prigione  il  mio 
Felice,  per  farlo  liberare ;  dal  momento  delle  sue 
disgrazie  sono  caduta  ammalata.  Stave  per  mori- 
re ',  i  medici  credettero  che  non  potessi  guarire. 
Sono  solamente  tre  anni  che  sto  un  po'  meglio ;  ho 
perso  tutti  i  cappelli,  ne  aveva  molti.  Non  ho  volu- 
to  mandare  il  mio  ritratto  al  fratello  perche  sono 
tanto  combiata  tanto  brutta  che  non  mi  riconosce- 
rebbe.     Non  posso  dormire.     Prego,  prego  sempre 

Vol.  XL— L 


122  FERRARA. 

la  mia  Madonna  che  mi  guarisca  di  quest'  orribile 
veglia  e  che  mi  faccia  abbraeciare  una  volta  il  mio 
Felice  prima  di  morire.  Non  e  che  la  speranza  di 
vederlo  che  mi  tiene  in  vita  !'*  This  is  a  gathering 
up  of  the  fragments  of  her  discourse ;  but  I  cannot 
give  an  idea  of  her  sorrow-worn  countenance,  her 
impassioned  tears  and  expressive  gestures,  which 
gave  the  most  powerful  effect  to  every  word  she  ut- 
tered, and  left  a  deep  and  sad  impression  on  our 
minds.  Just  Heaven  !  what  must  be  the  import  to 
Francis, '  the  father  of  his  people,^  of  that  sentence, 
*  with  what  measure  ye  mete  it  shall  be  measured  to 
you  again.'  "  Yes,  truly,  those  who  have  turned  the 
sweet  streams  of  domestic  love  into  such  bitter,  bit- 
er waters — the  Francises  and  Metternichs — will 
have  a  fearful  account  to  render. 

My  dear  C,  we  have  so  many  exiles  among  us, 
we  so  glorify  ourselves  with  the  idea  that  our  free 
country  is  their  asylum,  that  I  fear  we  are  some- 
times deficient  in  that  keen  sympathy  which  we 
should  feel  in  their  personal  misfortunes,  if  we  real- 
ized the  sundered  ties  and  languishing  affections  of 
the  broken  hearts  in  their  violated  homes. 

*  "  I  no  longer  know  how  to  talk.  I  can  only  weep  and  pray  to 
our  Lady !"  Taking  up  her  black  gown,  she  said,  "  I  put  on  this 
mourning  when  my  broiher  went  to  prison,  with  a  vow  to  wear  it 
till  he  was  freed.  From  the  moment  of  his  misfortune  I  fell  sick. 
I  have  been  near  to  death.  The  physicians  believed  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  cure  me.  For  the  last  three  years  only  have  I  been  a  little 
better.  I  have  lost  all  my  hair.  I  once  had  a  great  deal.  I  would 
not  send  my  portrait  to  my  brother ;  I  am  so  changed  he  would  not 
know  me,  I  cannot  sleep  ;  I  pray  and  pray  to  our  Lady  to  cure  me 
of  this  horrible  wakefulness,  and  that  she  will  permit  me  to  embrace 
my  brother  once  before  I  die.  The  hope  of  seeing  him  is  all  that 
keeps  me  alive !" 


\y 


FERRARA.  123 

Professor  B.  and  some  other  friends  of  Foresti 
passed  the  evening  with  us,  partly  at  the  theatre 
and  partly  at  home.  In  spite  of  the  wear  and  tear 
of  twenty  years'  separation,  their  attachment  to  him 
is  unimpaired.  Among  them  was  an  old  curate,  who 
said  that,  "  but  for  his  age,  he  would  go  to  America 
to  see  Foresti."  Professor  B.  is  a  highly-cultivated 
man,  with  that  great  advantage  to  a  new  acquaint- 
ance, a  beautiful  countenance  and  charming  man- 
ners, and,  withal,  he  is  a  hearty  liberal.  He  told 
us  some  facts  which  may  give  you  an  idea  of  the 
shackles  and  discomforts  the  government  imposes 
here,  and  of  the  inextinguishable  spirit  of  these  no- 
ble Italians.  There  is  an  association  of  the  literary 
and  scientific  men  of  the  diiterent  states  of  Italy  re- 
cently formed,  which  is  to  have  an  annual  meeting. 
It  is  favoured  by  the  King  of  Piedmont  and  the 
Grand-duke  of  Tuscany ;  but  the  pope,  who  stops 
every  crevice  at  which  light  may  enter,  has  issued  a 
bull,  declaring  that  if  a  subject  of  his  shall  be  pres- 
ent at  one  of  these  meetings,  he  shall  be  held  a  trai- 
tor, and  suffer  accordingly. 

A  physician  is  not  permitted  to  make  a  profession- 
al visit  beyond  the  walls  of  the  city  without  going 
first  to  the  police  to  declare  where  he  is  going,  and 
the  name  and  disease  of  his  patient !  Professor  B. 
said, "  In  1831,  when  we  all  believed  the  favourable 
moment  had  arrived  for  asserting  our  liberty,  I,  who 
had  belonged  to  no  secret  society,  nor  had  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  promoting  the  excitement,  declared 
my  sympathy  with  the  liberals,  and  was  delegated 


124  JOURNEY    TO    BOLOGNA. 

by  them  to  warn  the  apostoUc  legate  that  he  was 
about  to  be  deprived  of  all  power,  moral  and  physical, 
but  that  his  person  would  be  untouched.  He  cour- 
teously expressed  his  obligations  to  me ;  but  when, 
at  the  end  of  our  twenty-six  days  of  happiness ^  he 
was  re-established,  I  found  that  my  name  was  placed 
at  the  head  of  the  black-list.  I  was  deprived  of  all 
the  public  trusts  I  held,  and  I  have  been  ever  since 
so  closely  watched  that  I  am  but  a  prisoner.  I  can- 
not cross  the  frontier  within  ten  miles  of  Ferrara,  nor 
even  go  to  Rome  without  a  special  permission  from 
the  secretary  of  state,  which  can  only  be  procured 
by  stating  that  I  am  going  on  professional  business, 
and  shall  be  in  such  and  such  houses,  see  such  and 
such  people,  and  be  absent  such  a  number  of  d^iys." 
This  is  the  condition  of  the  best  subjects  of  a  gov- 
ernment of  which  the  head  is  also  the  head  of  the 
greatest  body  of  Christians  in  the  world.  Oh !  my 
countrymen,  thank  God  for  your  religious  and  civil 
freedom,  and  cherish  it ! 


Bologna. — We  had  nothing  notable  during  our 
dreary,  cloudy  drive  to  Bologna,  but  a  rencounter 
with  the  beggars  at  our  last  post-station.  As  usual, 
beggars  of  all  ages,  from  first  to  second  childhood, 
flocked  around  our  carriage.  We  had  given  away 
all  our  sous,  and  we  had  recourse  to  our  lunch-bas- 
ket. I  arranged  the  bread  and  chicken,  and  L.  dis- 
pensed. "  Oh !  give  me  a  bit,"  she  said,  "  for  this 
boy  with  heavenly  eyes !"     "  Here  it  is  ;  now  give 


BOLOGNA.  «125 

this  to  that  blind  old  woman."  "  Oh !  I  must  give 
this  to  that  little  Tot  who  is  stretching  up  her  arm 
to  me ;  what  a  perfect  cherub  she  would  be  if  her 
face  was  washed  !  keep  off,  you  snatcher  !"  to  a  lean, 
tall  half  idiot  who  was  intercepting  the  cherub's 
slice.  "  Now,  L.,  this  must  go  to  that  sick,  shivering 
old  man  !"  "  Oh !  wait,  see  this  poor,  pale  girl." 
"  Now  for  the  old  woman  !"  but  the  bit  w^ent  to  a 
trembling  boy  who  looked  like  a  leper,  with  a  with- 
ered arm ;  and  when  my  old  woman  was  at  last  sup- 
plied, there  was  an  evil-eyed  hag  and  four  boys  who 
jostled  the  first  comers  away,  and  two  of  them,  after 
devouring,  like  hungry  dogs,  what  we  gave  them, 
followed  us  half  a  mile,  calling  "  ca-ri-ta !"  Beside 
the  dramatis  personse  I  have  described,  and  who 
were  actually  en  scene,  we  saw,  as  we  drove  off,  oth- 
ers, lame  and  blind,  coming  from  their  more  distant 
stations  towards  us. 

You  must  attribute  some  portion  of  the  barrenness 
of  my  travelling  journal,  my  dear  C,  to  the  bad 
w^eather  that,  almost  without  exception,  has  attend- 
ed us  in  our  passages  from  place  to  place  since  we 
entered  Italy.  The  advanced  season,  too,  is  against 
us.  All  rural  occupation  is  suspended  ;  the  vintage 
is  past,  the  corn  is  husbanded,  and  the  country  has 
now  (November  26)  as  bare  an  aspect  as  it  ever 
has  in  Italy.  Bologna,  as  you  first  see  it,  lying  un- 
der the  shadow  of  the  Apennines,  with  its  antique 
spires  and  leaning  towers,  is  a  most  picturesque  town; 
but  all  is  picturesque  in  Italy,  down  to  the  laden  ass 
and  the  beggar.     From  the  villas  and  villages  that 

L2 


126  BOLOGNA. 

surround  the  town,  you  may  imagine  how  rich  and 
smiling  the  suburbs  must  be  in  any  but  this  desolate 
season.  As  we  drove  through  the  streets  we  were 
struck  with  the  long  lines  of  arcades  and  columns 
that  front  all  the  edifices,  and  which  afford  a  perfect 
protection  to  the  foot-passenger.  They  were  de- 
signed, I  think,  by  the  luxurious  citizens,  when  the 
sumptuary  laws  of  the  republic  forbade  the  use  of 
covered  carriages.  There  is  an  arcade  of  640  arches 
extending  from  the  town  to  a  church  of  the  Madon- 
na, on  a  hill  three  miles  from  the  city.  Truly  the 
church  has  kept  itself  free  of  sumptuary  laws. 


The  Piazzo  del  Gigante,  to  which  I  have  just 
walked  in  a  pouring  rain,  is  one  of  the  most  charac- 
teristic and  grandest  monuments  of  the  Italian  re- 
pubhcs  that  we  have  yet  seen  in  Italy.  With  the 
fountain  of  Neptune,  the  master-piece  of  John  of 
Bologna,  in  the  centre,  it  is  surrounded  by  churches, 
superb  old  palaces,  towers,  and  other  buildings  with 
the  most  curious  Gothic  fronts. 


The  "  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts"  here  contains 
one  of  the  best  galleries  of  pictures  in  the  world. 
They  are  the  master-pieces  of  the  first  masters,  and 
what  masters  they  were !  I  feel  now  more  than 
ever  what  nonsense  it  is  to  write  about  these  pic- 
tures, since,  with  all  I  have  read  about  them,  I  find  I 
had  no  conception  of  their  power — none  worth  having 
of  the  painter's  divine  art. 


BOLOGNA.  127 

I  make  it  a  rule,  in  these  galleries,  not  to  go  bewil- 
dering myself  about  from  room  to  room,  but  to  con- 
fine my  attention  to  the  best  pictures ;  and  I  have 
adhered  to  my  rule  to-day,  hardly  glancing  even  at 
the  pictures  of  the  three  Caracci,  all  natives  of  Bo- 
logna. 

There  is  a  painted  tragedy  here  by  Guido  that 
would  break  your  heart :  "  The  murder  of  the  In- 
nocents." The  trustfulness  of  the  lovely  children, 
who  feel  themselves  safe  in  the  close  embrace 
of  the  mother,  contrasted  with  her  terror  and  an- 
guish, is  most  touching.  But  the  most  affecting  fig- 
ure is  a  mother  with  her  hands  clasped  and  her  two 
dead  children  at  her  feet.  It  is  all  over  with  her ; 
she  has  nothing  farther  to  hope  or  fear,  and  the  res- 
ignation of  the  saint  is  struggling  with  the  despair 
of  the  parent.  You  w^ant  to  throw  yourself  at  her 
feet  and  weep  wath  her. 

The  martyrdom  of  St.  Agnes  by  Domenichino, 
wdth  its  glorious  golden  light,  is  a  picture  that  even 
dear  J.,  with  all  her  horror  of  representations  of 
physical  suffering,  could  not  turn  away  from ;  there 
is  such  sweet  peace  on  the  face  of  the  young  woman. 
Art  could  not  better  illustrate  that  true  and  beauti- 
ful declaration  of  the  prophet,  *•  The  work  of  righ- 
teousness shall  be  peace,  and  the  effect  of  righteous- 
ness quietness  and  assurance  forever."  The  execu- 
tioner grasps  her  bright,  wavy  hair  with  one  hand, 
while  with  hot  pincers  in  the  other  he  is  burning  out 
the  flesh  of  her  throat  and  bosom.  The  besotted 
judge  looks  on,  and  cherubs  are  floating  over  the 


128  BOLOGNA. 

naissant  saint,  one  holding  the  crown  of  martyrdom, 
and  another  a  pen  to  record  her  triumphs.  I  pass 
over  Guidons  "  Madonna  della  Pieta,^^  the  "  Rosario,^^ 
and  even  that  imbodiment  of  perfect  grace  and 
beauty,  Raphael's  "  St.  CeciUa"  (their  names  thrill 
those  who  have  seen  them!),  for  Guido's  "Cru- 
cifixion," which,  like  the  very  scene,  fills  you  with 
solemnity  and  aw^e.  There  are  but  four  figures, 
and  they  are  as  large  as  life;  that  of  Jesus  ex- 
presses "  It  is  finished  !"  Mary  is  not,  as  in  most 
of  her  pictures,  to  the  gross  violation  of  truth,  rep- 
resented young,  but  in  the  unimpaired  ripeness  of 
womanhood.  She  has  the  same  face,  dress,  and  at- 
titude as  in  the  Pieta,  but  there  she  divides  your 
attention  wdth  the  admirable  portraits  of  the  four 
adoring  saints;  there  Scripture  truth  and  simplicity 
are  sacrificed  to  a  fable  or  an  imagination  of  the 
church ;  here  you  see  the  real  Mary,  and  the  un- 
fathomable depths  of  her  sorrow  show  the  prophecy 
accomplished :  "  the  sword  has  pierced  her  soul." 
John,  standing  on  the  other  side  the  cross,  is  the 
personification  of  gentleness  and  tenderness  worthy 
that  highest  trust  of  his  master,  "Woman,  behold 
thy  son !"  The  only  imperfection  that  struck  me  in 
the  picture  is  a  want  of  a  right  expression  in  Mary 
Magdalene.  She  is  a  beautiful,  sorrowing  young 
girl  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and  pressing 
her  brow  against  it,  but  she  is  not  the  forgiven  pen- 
itent. Surely  the  reformers  forgot  that  nine  tenths  of 
mankind  receive  their  strongest  impressions  through 
their  senses,  when  they  excluded  such  glorious  pre- 


BOLOGNA.  129 

sentments  of  Divine  truth  from  their  churches.  I 
should  have  but  a  poor  opinion  of  him  whose  devo- 
tion WQ.S  not  warmed  by  Guido's  Crucifixion. 

A  masterly  head  of  an  old  man  arrested  my  at- 
tention. I  examined  my  catalogue,  and  found  it 
was  painted  by  Guercino  in  a  single  night,  and  was 
called  "  the  head  of  the  Eternal  Father !"  The  at- 
tempt is  as  futile  as  profane  to  represent  Him  whom 
"  no  man  can  see,  and  live." 

While  enjoying  these  sublime  work?  of  art  as  a 
new  revelation,  we  were  hurried  away  to  see  some- 
thing else  that  must  be  seen  now  or  never.  The 
Campo  Santo,  being  the  most  beautiful  thing  of  its 
kind  in  Italy,  we  could  not  overlook ;  accordingly 
we  drove  there.  This  was  formerly  a  chartreuse — 
an  immense  monastic  establishment ;  once  the  dreary 
habitation  of  the  living,  who  suffered  in  its  magnif- 
icent solitude,  now  the  beautiful  abode  of  the  dead, 
who  cannot  enjoy  it.  Such  are  the  perversions  of 
human  things !  The  cemetery  at  Ferrara  dwindled 
to  insignificance  compared  with  this.  I  can  give 
you  no  idea  of  the  immense  perspective  of  its  clois- 
ters, all  lined  with  tablets,  and  monuments,  and 
fresco  paintings,  or  of  the  almost  infinite  series  of 
cells,  converted  into  family  tombs  by  the  exclu- 
sives  of  Bologna.  These  open  from  the  cloister^ 
and  are  so  arranged  as  to  produce  a  most  picturesque 
architectural  effect.  "  The  million"  are  laid  in  four 
large,  open  courts  in  classes,  one  for  men,  one  for 
women,  one  for  boys,  and  another  for  girls.  There 
seemed  to  me  in  this  a  cold  neglect  of  the  law  of 


130  BOLOGNA. 

family  love,  that  governs  all  mankind.  There  are 
some  splendid  public  monuments,  and  a  pantheon  is 
building  for  the  illustrious  of  Bologna,  and  in  the 
mean  time  there  is  a  large  apartment  filled  with 
their  busts.  I  noticed  a  very  fine  one  of  a  woman 
who  was  professor  of  Greek  in  the  University  of 
Bologna  within  the  present  century.* 

Immense  as  the  establishment  is,  large  additions 
are  making.  "  You  mean  to  have  room  for  all  Bo- 
logna,'' I  said  to  our  conductor.  "  Oui,  madame, 
tout  le  monde  entre  et  personne  en  fort.  C'est  pour 
quoi  il  faut  toujours  batir"  ("  All  come  in  and  none 
go  out.     So  we  have  to  keep  on  building"). 


It  has  been  our  great  pleasure  to  meet  Miss 

here.  You  can  hardly  imagine  the  dehght,  after 
being  exclusively  among  foreign  people,  of  meeting 
a  high-bred  Englishwoman  who  is  not  foreign  to  us. 

She  sang  for  us,  and  truly,  as  Mrs. said  of 

her,  she  does  not  sing  like  an  angel,  but  "like  a 
choir  of  angels."     Music  is  the  key  that  unlocks 

*  It  is  said  that  Italy  has  produced  more  learned  women  than  any 
part  of  Europe,  and  that  Bologna  has  longest  continued  to  respect 
and  reward  the  literary  acquisitions  of  women.  It  was  a  lady  of 
Bologna  who,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  was  so  zealous  a  champion 
of  her  sex  as  to  employ  her  wit  and  learning  to  prove  the  world  has 
been  all  this  while  in  error,  and  that  it  was  Adam  who  tempted  Eve. 
It  is  curious  that  the  most  illustrious  examples  of  learned  women 
should  spring  up  in  a  country  where  they  are  condemned,  en  masse, 
to  ignorance  ;  where  a  conventual  education  prescribes  religion  as 
their  only  duty,  and  their  instincts  cherish  love  as  their  only  happi- 
ness. 


FILLAGARE.  131 

her  soul  and  brings  its  rich  revelations  to  her  face. 
She  looks,  while  singing,  like  an  inspired  sibyl. 
We  went  to  the  opera  with  her,  where  we  saw, 
for  the  first  time,  a  decent  ballet.  The  house  is 
very  pretty.  There  are  balconies  projecting  from 
the  loges,  which  show  off  the  audience  and  give  the 
house  a  lively  aspect  unusual  in  the  Italian  theatres. 
Jfov,  28. — A  wretched  morning,  and  the  rain 
pouring,  my  dear  C. ;  but  our  letters  are  at  Flor- 
ence, and  there  must  we  be — so  ho!  for  the  Apen- 
nines, 


Fillagare. — As  we  drove  out  of  Bologna  I  had  a 
melancholy  sense  of  the  ludicrous  insufficiency  of 
two  rainy  days  in  a  place  where  we  might  have 
been  employed  for  six  months  in  studying  the  al- 
most unimpaired  records  of  its  days  of  power  and 
magnificence.  In  spite  of  the  pouring  rain,  we  en-» 
joyed  the  environs  of  Bologna.  They  are  richly  em- 
bellished. 

At  our  second  post  we  took  a  third  pair  of  horses, 
and  at  the  first  ascent  a  yoke  of  oxen  in  addition, 
and  then  began  a  slow  drag  up  the  Apennines, 
which  we  continued  till  six  this  evenino-,  with  the 
exception  of  a  race  down  the  hills  as  fearless  and 
careless  as  the  driving  in  our  own  country.  This  is 
a  new  experience ;  for,  till  now,  the  caution  of  our 
postiUions  has  gone  even  a  little  beyond  my  cow- 
ardly notions  of  prudence. 

The  Apennines  are  a  congregation  of  hills ;  those 


132  FILLAGARE. 

we  have,  passed  to-day  are  much  higher,  but  not  un- 
like, in  their  formation,  the  hills  between  Berkshire 
and  Hampshire,  though,  judging  from  their  produc- 
tions, very  unlike  in  their  climate.  Here  are  fine  fields 
of  well-started  winter-grain,  and  occasional  planta- 
tions of  grapes  flung  from  tree  to  tree.  Once  the  misty 
atmosphere  cleared,  and  we  got  a  peep  of  the  Adri- 
atic and  the  Alps.  We  have  been  all  day  thinking 
of  you.  It  is  "  Thanksgiving  Day  ;"  and  our  position 
in  a  huge,  lonely  inn  in  the  midst  of  the  Apennines, 
with  a  salon  over  a  stable,  is  a  sorry  contrast  to 
your  sweet  savours  and  social  pleasures  round  the 
hearth  of  our  childhood  !  We  have  entered  Tuscany, 
and  I  fancy  I  can  see  the  spirit  of  this  most  fortunate 
land  of  Italy  in  our  buxom,  frank,  good-humoured 
hostess  and  her  beautiful  progeny,  with  their  black 
eyes  and  golden  skins.  We  have  been  talking  with 
the  eldest,  Candida  and  Clementina,  and  petting 
the  youngest,  Giulio  and  Angiolino !  "  a  pretty  Ital- 
ianizing of  Tom  and  Sam,"  K.  says.  I  like,  of 
all  things,  to  stop  at  these  inns  which  are  not  the 
regular  stopping-places.  The  people  are  social  and 
frank,  and  you  get  some  insight  into  the  national 
modes  of  getting  on.  You  will  find  no  teacups  and 
no  tea  (but  that  first  of  necessaries  you  always  have 
with  you),  and  you  have  a  droll  medley  for  your 
table-service ;  and,  instead  of  a  dandy  waiter  with 
his  meager  French,  and  his  "  snbito  signora,"  and 
his  action  never  suited  to  the  w^ord,  you  have  all 
the  family  to  serve  you,  with  their  amusing  individ- 
ualities, and  all  eager  and  indefatigable. 


JOURNEY    TO     FLORENCE.  133 

We  left  our  shelter  at  Fillagare  at  nine  this 
morning.  We  are  often  wondering  at  the  com- 
plaints we  have  heard  of  the  impositions  in  Italy. 
We  had  excellent  bread  and  delicious  butter  from 
the  cascina  (the  duke's  dairy)  with  our  tea,  and 
fresh  eggs  in  the  morning,  generous  un-Italian  fires 
in  two  rooms,  and  a  pair  of  chickens  for  to-day's 
lunch,  all  for  one  dollar  each ;  and  being  an  inn 
where  travellers  seldom  stop,  they  had  the  tempta- 
tion to  pluck  well  the  goose  that  is  rarely  caught. 

I  walked  on  in  advance  of  the  carriage  this  morn- 
ing, and  a  heavy,  impenetrable  mist  came  scudding 
over  the  hills  in  one  direction,  and  far,  far  away  in 
another  the  light  streamed  down  in  a  silvery  shower, 
in  which  the  old  faith  of  the  land  would  have  en- 
veloped a  descending  Divinity.  I  was  amid  scenery 
so  wild  and  solitary  that  it  recalled  my  earliest 
ideas  of  Italy  got  from  Mrs.  RatclifTe's  romances, 
when  I  was  suddenly  awakened  from  a  revery  to 
an  uncomfortable  consciousness  of  my  isolation  and 
helplessness  by  the  apparition  of  a  savage-looking 
wretch  clothed  in  sheep-skins.  He,  however,  betook 
himself  to  the  reliable  occupation  of  tending  his 
sheep.  Soon  after  an  ass-rider  overtook  me,  and  I 
tried  to  keep  pace  with  his  beast,  thinking  that  he 
was  a  safeguard  who  possessed  even  so  much  prop- 
erty as  an  ass,  but  the  brute  ambled  away  from  me ; 
and  while  I  paused,  hesitating  whether  to  proceed 
or  turn  towards  the  carriage,  I  perceived  a  ragged, 
wild-looking  man  in  an  adjoining  field,  who  eyed  me 

Vol.  II.— M 


134  JOURNEY     TO     FLORENCE. 

for  an  instant,  and  then  came  rapidly  towards  me. 
I  hesitated  no  longer,  but  turned  and  walked  quick- 
ly down  the  hill,  seeing,  as  I  looked  askance  at  my 
pursuer,  that  he  gained  on  me.  "  Oh,"  thought  I, 
"  what  a  fool  I  was,  when  Fran9ois  told  me  yester- 
day this  was  no  country  for  a  lady  to  walk  alone 
in,  to  try  it  a  second  time !"  Like  the  Irishman,  I 
thought  all  the  world  might  hear  the  singing  in  my 
ears,  when,  to  my  unspeakable  relief,  our  great  ma- 
chine, with  its  attelage  of  six  horses,  appeared 
in  sight.  Oh,  how  brave  I  felt  as  I  again  turned 
and  eyed  my  enemy,  who  immediately  retreated, 
giving  me  thus  some  colour  of  reason  to  believe  that 
I  had  been  on  the  verge  of  an  incident  very  rare 
of  late  years.  It  is  surprising  to  me,  with  the 
temptations  of  booty  which  the  rich  English  travel- 
lers offer,  the  urgency  of  the  people's  wants,  and  the 
favourable  positions  occurring  on  the  great  thorough- 
fares, that  robberies  are  not  frequent  in  Italy. 

The  wind  blew  furiously  to-day  on  the  summits  of 
the  Apennines.  These  gusts  of  wind,  as  M.  read  to 
us  from  our  guide-book  (at  the  moment  it  seemed  to 
be  swelling  to  a  hurricane),  formerly  carried  away 
carriages,  travellers,  and  all ;  but  now  all  danger  of 
such  a  catastrophe  is  obviated  by  stone  walls  erected 
for  protection  by  the  "  paternal  grand-duke." 

At  our  fourth  post  all  wildness  and  sterility  disap- 
peared, and  we  came  down  upon  declivities  with 
large  tracts  of  rich  pasturage,  where  herds  of  cattle 
and  flocks  of  sheep  were  grazing,  and  a  little  lower 
down  appeared  plantations  of  vines  and  olives.     As 


FLORENCE.  135 

we  approached  this  most  beautiful  city  of  Florence, 
the  hills,  even  at  this  sear  season,  appear  like  terraced 
gardens,  and,  as  we  came  down  the  last  long  descent 
with  the  valley  of  the  Arno  at  our  feet,  and  fair 
Florence  with  its  spires  and  domes  before  us,  we 
seemed  to  have  passed  into  another  world.  The 
ohve-tree  resembles  our  ordinary-sized  willow  in  its 
shape  and  in  the  hue  of  its  foliage.  Some  person 
has  happily  said  that "  it  looks  as  if  it  grew  in  moon- 
light ;"  an  idea  exquisitely  transfused  into  poetry  by 
Kenyon  in  his  address  to  his  "  sphered  vestal !" 

"  Or  adding  yet  a  paler  pensiveness 
To  the  pale  olive-tree." 

The  olive  lives  to  such  an  age  that  the  peasant  be- 
lieves the  oldest  were  planted  in  the  time  of  our 
Saviour.  The  bearing-limbs  are  continually  renew- 
ed by  trimming,  but  the  main  stems  are  apparently 
sapless,  and  so  decayed  and  hollow  that  you  won- 
der how  the  juices  can  be  kept  in  circulation.  And 
yet  they  are  in  full  bearing  in  the  most  steril  places, 
where,  as  our  friend  K — n  said  too  poetically  in  prose, 
"  they  pump  oil  from  the  rocks." 

We  are  settled  for  a  week  at  the  ScheiderfF  hotel 
on  the  Arno,  formerly  one  of  the  palaces  of  the 
Medici.  This,  I  fancy,  is  the  season  when  most 
English  are  to  be  found  in  Florence.  It  seems  like 
an  English  colony.  The  coaches  in  the  streets  are 
English,  with  English  ladies  and  English  liveries. 
The  shops  are  thronged  with  English,  and  the  galle- 
ries filled  with  them.* 

*  I  have  omitted  my  first  delightful  impressions  of  Florence.    We 


136  SIENNA. 

Vienna,  December  8. 

My  dear  C, 
We  arrived  here  last  evening  just  at  the  moment  of 
the  only  Italian  sunset  we  have  seen  to  be  compared 
with  our  brilliant  sunsets.  The  golden  and  crimson 
rays  reminded  me  of  home,  but  how  different  from 
anything  at  home  the  Gothic  structures  and  towers 
that  reflected  them.  Our  drive  yesterday  was  through 
as  lovely  a  country  as  can  be  imagined ;  broken  into 
steep,  high  hills,  whose  declivities  of  every  form  are 
enriched  by  the  highest  cultivation,  which  shows,  even 
now,  what  a  garden  Tuscany  is ;  that  here  "  Nature 
makes  her  happy  home  with  man."  There  seems 
*to  be  a  fitness  and  harmony  between  the  ground  and 
its  tillers.  We  have  seen  nowhere  so  handsome  and 
attractive  a  peasantry.  They  have  bright  cheeks 
and  bright  eyes,  and  the  most  graceful  cheerfulness. 
The  animals,  too,  seem  the  fit  offspring  of  this  their 
bountiful  mother-earth.  The  oxen  are  mouse-col- 
oured, large,  fat,  and  beautifully  formed. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  inn  we  found  that  all  the 
apartments  au  premier  were  held  in  reserve  for  an 
expected  "milor  Anglais"  (all  the  English  on  the 
Continent  are  "  my  lords") ;  so  we  are  obHged  to 
put'  up  with  a  little  saloon  without  a  fire,  and  to 
hover  round  a  smoky  chimney  iii  R.'s  bedroom.* 

returned  to  it  at  a  pleasanter  season,  when  my  records  were  more 
particular  and  may  prove  more  interesting.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  avoid 
the  tediousness  of  repetition. 

*  I  once  asked  an  English  friend,  who,  T  thought,  was  sufficiently 
a  philosopher  to  endure  and  perhaps  to  solve  the  question,  "  how  it 


si;enna.  137 

As  we  have  been  looking  forward  to  a  pleasant 
Sunday  here,  you  must  forgive  my  grumbling.  We 
fully  realize  the  happiness  of  travelling  in  a  large 
party  when  w^e  assemble,  a  little  Christian  congre- 
gation, ybr  our  mass.  That  being  over  this  morn- 
ing, we  sallied  forth  to  the  Cathedral,  old  and 
grand,  rich  without  and  within.  It  has  a  rare  mosaic 
pavement  of  black  and  wtoe  marble,  representing 
Scripture  history,  and  events  and  characters  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  in  a  masterly  style,  by  a  mere  out- 
happens  that  the  English  are  so  much  disliked  on  the  Continent." 
"  How  can  it  be  otherwise,"  he  replied,  "  when  they  occupy  the  best 
apartments,  ride  in  the  best  carriages,  use  the  best  horses,  and,  in 
short,  forestal  the  natives  in  everything  ?"  And  when  to  this  po- 
tentiality is  added  the  Englishman's  shyness  and  pride,  his  island  in- 
aptitude at  adaptation,  his  exclusiveness,  from  principle,  taste,  and 
habit,  and  the  consciousness  of  indisputable  superiority  that  he  man- 
ifests in  all  parts  of  the  world,  thus  everywhere  running  afoul  of 
other  people's  self-loves,  national  pride,  and,  I  may  add,  just  self- 
estimation,  it  is  very  explicable  why  he  is  the  subject  of  general  dis- 
like. It  is  a  pity  he  should  thus  lose  the  benefit  of  his  wide-spread 
benefactions.  It  is  the  Englishman  who  keeps  alive  and  astir  the 
needy  population  of  these  old  cities.  It  is  he  who  builds  the  hotels, 
who  sets  the  wheels  in  motion  on  the  roads,  who  makes  a  beaten 
path  to  the  temples  of  old  art  however  secluded,  and  to  the  everlast- 
ing temples  of  Nature  however  difficult  of  access.  But  this  all  goes 
for  nothing  so  long  as  he  maintains  his  national  demeanour,  and  (as 
an  Italian  gentleman  said  to  a  friend  of  mine)  "  comes  down  into 
Italy  as  if  he  were  at  the  head  of  a  victorious  army  !" 

The  American  travellers  being  as  yet  but  a  handful  in  comparison 
with  the  English,  and  speaking  the  same  language,  are  merged  in 
them.  If  not  English,  why  then,  they  say,  "  you  are  English  Amer- 
icans." But  the  moment  they  become  fully  aware  that  you  belong 
to  a  separate  and  independent  nation,  they  open  their  hearts,  and 
pour  out  a  flood  of  griefs  against  the  English.  As  we  are  a  young 
nation  we  should  be  flexible,  and  avoid  the  foibles  of  the  parent 
ttock. 

M2 


138  SIENNA. 

lining.  It  bears  a  very  curious  resemblance  to 
Retzch's  etchings.  There  are  frescoes  in  the  sacris- 
ty, designed  by  Raphael,  in  which  there  are  three 
portraits  of  himself;  if  not  en  peintre  idealized,  he 
must  have  had  an  outer  fitting  his  inner  man.  In 
this  same  sacristy  are  twenty-five  volumes  of  church 
music,  illustrated  by  Benedictine  monks  in  the  fif- 
teenth century,  in  colours  as  vivid  as  the  rainbow, 
and  with  the  most  elaborate  finish.  For  the  rest  (I 
adopt  a  great  authority)  "  vide  Guide-book,"  which 
guide-book  sent  us  off  in  search  of  the  Fonte-Blan- 
da,  to  which  Dante,  by  a  simple  mention,  has  given 
an  "  immortal  youth."  So  up  we  mounted  and  down 
we  strode  through  a  street  that  no  carriage  could 
pass ;  and  at  the  foot  of  it,  and  at  the  gate  of  the 
city,  we  found  the  fountain.  Sienna  is  celebrated 
for  the  purity  and  abundance  of  its  water.  Here  it 
flows  through  several  pipes  and  by  grotesque  mouths 
into  an  immense  basin,  which  is  covered  with  a 
stone-vaulted  roof  of  three  arches ;  and,  hanging 
over  this,  on  the  verge  of  a  perpendicular  hill,  is  a 
large  church  dedicated  to  St.  Catharine.  It  is  a 
most  picturesque  place ;  but  what  is  not  picturesque 
in  Italy  ?  The  old  hags  I  saw  skinning  lambs,  as 
we  again  mounted  the  steep  hill,  were  subjects  for 
Michael  Angelo.  If  these  old  women  had  been 
born  in  New-England,  they  would  as  soon  have 
flayed  themselves  as  flayed  lambs  in  the  street  of  a 
Sunday.  So  much  for  conventional  virtue  !  It  was 
festa-day  in  Sienna,  and  these  secular  employments 
were   a  curious   episode    enough    in   the   general 


JOURNEY    TO    RADICOFANE.  139 

"  idlesse"  and  gayety  of  the  streets.  It  was  St. 
Catharine's  festa,  too,  being  her  natal  day,  and  we 
were  passing  by  a  Httle  chapel,  built  on  the  site  of 
the  very  house  in  which  she  was  born ;  so  we  pushed 
aside  the  curtain  to  the  door  and  turned  into  it,  ex- 
pecting to  find  it  crowded ;  but  she  whom  the  paint- 
ers more  effectually  than  the  church  have  canonized, 
has  met  with  the  common  fate,  and  has  little  honour 
in  her  own  country — or  her  own  chapel.  There 
were  some  twenty  children  kneeling  about  the  door, 
who  suspended  their  prayers  to  stare  at  us ;  and  the 
young  priests  who  were  going  in  and  out,  1  inferred 
from  the  direction  of  their  eyes,  thought  less  of  the 
saint  than  of  the  blooming  young  heretics  who  were 
with  me. 


Radicofane. — We  were  up  betimes  this  morning, 
and  before  seven  drove  from  the  little  piazza,  with 
its  antique  column  surmounted  with  the  nursing 
mother  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  and  her  human  cubs. 
We  were  but  a  few  miles  from  Sienna  when  I  dis- 
covered that  I  had  left  my  shawl  and  mantilla  at 
the  head  of  my  bed,  where  I  had  placed  them  to 
raise  my  scant  pillow.  I  sent  back  a  line  from  the 
next  post,  but,  I  take  it,  there  is  little  hope  in  Italy 
of  retrieving  such  a  loss.  If  the  master  of  the  ho- 
tel chances  to  be  honest,  the  cameriera  will  be  too 
quick  for  him.* 

*  I  have  transferred  the  above  from  my  journal,  and  am  willing  to 
bear  the  shame  of  it,  if,  by  recording  the  issue,  I  may  save  others 


140  RADICOFANE. 

As  we  have  proceeded  on  our  journey  to-day  the 
country  has  become  sterile  and  beggars  multiply. 
We  have  been  followed  up  and  down  hill  by  a  tail 
of  little  beggars  clothed  in  a  mass  of  ragged  patch- 
es ;  yet  their  beauty,  with  a  certain  grace  and  re- 
finement in  their  expressions,  went  to  my  heart. 
They  are  not  beggars  "  by  theirs  or  their  parents' 
fault ;"  and  when  their  little  hands  were  stretched 
out  for  "  carita"  I  longed  to  take  them  and  lead 
them  to  my  free,  unoccupied  country ;  and  they 
were  quite  as  kindly  disposed  to  us,  promising  us 
for  our  few  halfpence  the  protection  of  all  the  saints, 
the  company  of  "  Maria  Santissima/'  and,  to  crown 
all,  access  to  Paradise  ! 

K.  asked  a  boy  of  twelve  years,  who  wore  a  cot- 
ton jacket  and  trousers  (December  9,  two  thousand 
four  hundred  and  seventy  feet  above  the  Mediterra- 
nean), and  manifestly  no  under-clothes,  "  if  he  knew 
where  America  was  ?"  "  No ;  nor  England,  nor 
Rome,  nor  Florence  !"  Another,  still  older,  had 
heard  of  Rome,  but  he  had  been  four  years  to  school ! 
"  His  mother  was  dead,  and  there  was  no  one  to  pay 
for  him,  and  give  him  bread  any  longer ;  and,"  he 
concluded,  "there  is  no  work — ah,  signorina,  questo 
paese  e  molto  povero — molto  miserable  !" 

from  such  sweeping  and  unfair  judgments.  My  property  was  sent 
after  me  to  Rome  by  vetturino,  with  a  very  civil  note  from  our  host 
of  the  Aquila  Nera ;  the  man  who  brought  it  merely  required  a  re- 
ceipt for  it,  and  persisted  in  refusing  a  reward  for  his  service.  This 
would  have  been  a  rare  instance  of  disinterested  civility  in  America, 
and  singular  in  England ;  but  still  Americans  and  English  go  on  vi- 
tuperating Italian  cupidity ! 


RADICOFANE.  141 

Poor  and  miserable  indeed!  It  consists  of  a 
range  of  volcanic  hills  without  soil,  excepting  here 
and  there  enough  to  sustain  pasturage  for  a  few 
sheep.  We  are  on  one  of  the  highest,  dreariest 
summits,  and  are  now,  just  as  the  evening  is  closing, 
sitting  in  the  huge  balcony  of  our  barrack-like  inn. 
I  will  sketch  the  scene  before  us  for  you.  No ;  we 
are  not  quite  at  the  summit,  for  that  is  crowned 
with  a  ruined  fortress,  and  cowering  under  its 
walls  is  a  wretched  village,  between  which  and  our 
inn  the  road  passes.  Before  our  door  is  an  old 
stone  fountain  with  the  armorial  bearinos  of  some 

o 

forgotten  family.  From  the  fountain  there  is  a 
straight,  steep  path  to  the  village  above.  Ascend- 
ing this  path  are  asses  with  immense  bundles  of  fire- 
wood on  each  side  (a  family's  winter  supply  proba- 
bly), consisting  of  mere  twigs  and  withs.  There 
are  priests,  too  (the  only  people  here,  Fran9ois  says, 
who  don't  work  and  do  eat),  with  their  gowns  and 
three-cornered  hats,  dawdling  up  the  path.  And 
there,  driving  their  scanty  flock  to  the  fold,  goes  a 
shepherd  and  shepherdess,  and  their  little  girl,  look- 
ing lean  and  wearied,  their  windowed  ragged- 
ness  half  hidden  with  dark  red  mantles  (here  the 
shepherd's  costume),  which  hang  to  the  ground  be- 
hind. Round  the  fountain  are  gathered  ass-drivers 
drinking  with  their  asses,  and  beside  them  is  an  old 
hag,  who,  having  just  espied  us,  has  pressed  her  fin- 
gers on  the  sightless  eyeballs  of  a  child  beside  her, 
and  then  wildly  stretched  her  arms  towards  us,  is 
crying  "  carita !" 


142  JOURNEY     TO     VITERBO. 

In  the  street  under  us  is  a  smart  English  travel- 
ling-carriage waiting  for  a  change  of  horses.     The 
courier  is  sauntering  round  it,  and  my  lady's  maid 
is  in  the  rumble;  a  gentleman  is  standing  beside 
the  open  door,  a  very  pretty  young  woman  is  in 
the  carriage  with  three  pet-dogs.     The  little  rag- 
ged escort  that  followed  us  up  the  hill  have  sur- 
rounded the  carriage,  reinforced  by  some  half  dozen 
blind  and  maimed  old  creatures  whom  the  sound  of 
wheels  has  brought  down  from  the  village.     The 
lady  is  caressing  her  pets,  feeding  them  with  raisins 
and  biscuits,  as  well  as  I  can  see ;  she  gives  no  heed 
to  the  beggars'  clatter — yes,  she  is  tired  of  it — she 
asks  the  gentleman  to  get  in,  and  they  coolly  close 
the  windows.     I  don't  know  what  my  poor  little 
beggarly  friends  think,  but  this  turning  aside  from  hu- 
man necessities  to  pamper  brutes  seems  to  me  one 
of  those  "  fantastic  tricks  at  which  the  angels  weep." 
My  dear  C,  you  may  say  "  something  too  much 
of  this ;"  but  beggary  here,  remember,  makes  up  a 
good  portion  of  the  history  of  the  country,  or,  rather, 
a  running  commentary  on  the  neglect  and  abuses  of 
its  governments.* 


Viferho. — We  left  that  wild  place  up  in  the  clouds 
this  morning  with  only  just  light  enough  to  see  our 

♦  No  one  born  and  bred  in  Europe  can  well  imagine  how  striking 
the  want  and  beggary  of  the  Old  World  is  to  an  American  eye.  1 
must  be  forgiven  for  a  tedious  recurrence  toil;  I  could  not  other- 
wise fairly  give  my  impressions. 


VITERBO.  143 

winding  way.  We  again  entered  the  papal  terri- 
tory at  the  end  of  our  first  post,  and  we  find  increas- 
ing wretchedness,  and  our  own  wretched  condition 
in  bad  roads,  puny  horses,  ragged  harness,  and  in- 
competent postilhons,  all  betokening  his  holiness' 
dominion.  We  passed  to-day  through  Bolsena,  now 
a  miserable  little  town,  but  once  an  ancient  Etrus- 
can capital,  whence  the  Romans  are  said  to  have 
removed  2000  statues !  "  The  world  is  a  stage,"  and 
the  scenes,  wuth  but  a  little  longer  interval  of  time, 
as  shifting  as  the  scenes  of  a  theatre. 


I  WISH  you  could  have  seen  us,  dear  C,  an  hour 
ago,  escorted  about  by  two  little  fellows,  ragged  and 
beautiful,  who  would  fain  have  persuaded  us  to  go 
to  the  Church  of  Santa  Rosa  to  see  the  saint's  body, 
which  is  exhibited  in  her  own  church.  But  though 
our  conductors  reiterated  in  most  persuasive  tones 
"  e  una  bella  Santa — Santa  Rosa,"  we  persisted  in 
leaving  the  vilely  dirty  streets  of  Viterbo  for  the 
suburbs,  where  we  had  a  delightful  stroll  to, a  chapel 
of  St.  Francis',  which  we  entered  just  as  a  proces- 
sion of  Franciscans  went  in  to  their  vesper-service. 
Our  little  guides  dropped  on  their  knees  and  joined 
in  the  service  ;  and  so  did  we  in  our  hearts.  How 
skilfully  the  Catholics  have  made  many  of  the  oflfi- 
ces  of  their  religion  to  harmonize  with  the  wants 
and  spontaneous  feelings  of  man.  A  vesper-service 
is  the  very  poetry  of  worship. 


144  VITERBO. 

On  our  return  our  cicerone,  without  warning  us, 
knocked  at  the  door  of  a  house,  into  which  we  were 
admitted  by  an  old  crone  who,  on  the  boys  saying 
something  to  her  in  a  low-toned  patois,  conducted 
us  through  a  suite  of  apartments,  and  passed  us  over 
to  the  "  PadronV  He  led  us  out  into  a  garden,  and 
told  us  this  had  been  Madame  Letitia's,  and  was  still 
in  the  possession  of  the  Bonaparte  family.  I  fancied 
this  was  a  mere  invention  to  filch  us  of  a  few  pauls ; 
so  I  was  grudgingly  offering  the  fee  when  the  gen- 
tleman, with  a  very  dignified  bow  and  a  "  grazie," 
declined  it,  and  turned  away  to  pluck  us  bouquets  of 
roses  and  geraniums.  It  was  now  my  turn  to  say 
"  grazie,"  and  to  feel  as  if  I  had  been  guilty  of  a 
meanness  quite  equal  to  that  which,  with  a  true  trav- 
eller's prejudice,  I  had  gratuitously  imputed  to  the 
Italian  gentleman. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  to  imagine  that  this  little  town, 
which  now  contains  about  13,000  inhabitants  (not  so 
many  as  some  of  our  western  towns  accumulate  in 
three  or  four  years'  growth),  has  been  standing  ever 
since  the  time  of  the  Etruscans,  was  a  celebrated 
place  in  their  day,  and  has  since  often  been  a  papal 
residence ;  but  these  Old  World  towns  have,  as  an 
Irishman  might  say,  a  growth  two  ways. 


We  left  Viterbo  at  seven  this  morning,  little  think- 
ing of  what  dread  moment  to  one  human  being  was 
the  instant  of  our  departure.     We  started  with  six 


JOURNEY   TO    ROME.  145 

horses,  and,  according  to  the  laws  of  posting  in  the 
pope's  dominions,  with  a  postillion  to  each  span  of 
horses.  They  were  all  young  men,  one  a  boy  of 
thirteen,  and  all  impetuous  and  noisy,  beyond  what 
you  can  well  conceive,  never  having  heard  the  clam- 
our of  Italian  postboys.  There  were  two  carriages 
ready  to  start  at  the  inn-door.  Fran9ois,  anxious  to 
have  the  advantage  of  precedence  on  the  road,  urged 
our  postillions,  who  needed  no  urging,  and  w^e  set 
off  at  a  gallop  dow' n  the  steep  street  of  Viterbo  and 
into  the  market-place  crowded  with  people.  I  shud- 
dered as  I  saw  them  jumping  on  one  side  and  the 
other  to  avoid  us.  I  called  to  Fran9ois  to  check  our 
speed;  he  did  not  hear  me,  and  on  w^e  dashed,  turned 
a  corner,  and  a  moment  after  we  felt  a  slight  jolt  of 
the  carriage  as  if  it  were  passing  over  something, 
and  a  momentary  check  of  the  horses,  and  heard 
cries  and  exclamations,  and  again  the  postillions' 
clamour  burst  forth,  and  the  horses  w^ere  put  to  their 
speed.  I  thrust  my  head  out  of  the  window,  and 
saw  the  girls  in  the  rumble  as  pale  as  death ;  K. 
bent  forward  and  said,  "  We  have  run  over  a  wom- 
an. I  called  to  Francois  and  the  postillions  to  stop ; 
they  did  not  hear  me ;  say  nothing  in  the  carriage ; 
it  will  do  no  good  to  stop  now."  The  postillions 
were  still  urging  their  horses,  we  were  actually  ra- 
cing up  hill,  the  scene  of  the  tragedy  w^as  already 
far  behind,  and  fearing,  as  K.  did,  to  shock  her  un- 
cle by  communicating  the  disaster,  I  submitted  to 
the  apparent  barbarity  of  galloping  away,  unheeding 
the  misery  we  had  inflicted.  A  half  hour  afterward 
Vol.  II.— N 


146  JOURNEY    TO    ROME. 

a  courier  who  passed  us  on  horseback  called  out, 
"  e  morta !"  ("  she  is  dead !")  It  has  been  a  gloomy 
day  to  us. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  dismay  and  dread  in 
the  faces  of  the  young  postillions  when  we  stopped 
at  the  post-house,  except  the  boy,  who,  being  the  son 
of  the  postmaster,  was  sure  of  acquittal,  and  bore 
with  perfect  unconcern  all  the  blame  which  his  com- 
rades heaped  upon  him,  imputing  the  disaster  to  his 
unskilfulness  in  not  turning  aside  his  horses.  Fran- 
cois confirmed  their  statement,  and  K.,  at  their  ear- 
nest supplication,  wrote  as  mitigatory  a  statement 
for  them  as  the  case  admitted,  to  be  presented  to  the 
police  of  Viterbo.  Francois  tells  us  now  that  she  will 
be  recalled  to  Viterbo  as  a  witness,  and  congratulates 
himself  on  his  superior  wariness  in  not  putting  his 
name  to  the  testimonial.  "  Miss  K.,"  he  says,  coolly, 
"  did  not  think."  "  No,  Francois ;  but,  if  she  had, 
she  could  not  have  refused  to  do  justice  to  those 
men  because  she  exposed  herself  to  inconvenience." 
"Ah,  madame,  one  must  take  care  for  one's  self 
first!"* 

*  We  went  through  the  usual  transitions,  being  first  incensed  at 
the  postillions,  and  then,  when  we  felt  the  misery  of  exchanging  the 
free  gallop  over  hill  and  dale  for  a  prison  in  Viterbo,  itself  a  prison, 
with  the  curses  of  all  the  town,  and  the  horror  of  having  sent  a  fel- 
low-creature "unanointed,  unannealed,"  to  purgatory,  we  pitied  them. 
Fran9ois  afte^-ward  recognised  one  of  them  at  Rome,  who  told  him 
he  had  got  off  with  a  few  weeks'  imprisonment.  "  Was  the  wom- 
an young?"  asked  Francois.  "So-so."  "Had  she  a  husband?" 
"  Yes."  "  Did  you  not  fear  he  would  stab  you  ?"  "  At  first,  yes ; 
but  he  was  a  sensible  fellow,  he  thanked  me,  and  offered  to  treat  me 
to  a  dinner'" 


JOURNEY    TO    ROME.  147 

Our  last  posts  were  through  the  dreary  wastes 
that  encompass  Rome.  The  campagna  is  not,  as  I 
had  ignorantly  believed,  a  level,  biit  presents  an  un- 
dulating surface,  •without  morasses  or  stagnant  wa- 
ter, or  anything  that  indicates  unwholesomeness  ex- 
cept its  utter  desertion.  The  grass  looks  rich  and 
rank,  as  if  it  sprung  from  a  virgin  soil,  and  its  tints 
are  glowing,  even  at  this  season.  There  are  scat- 
tered here  and  there  large  flocks  of  sheep,  with  lean, 
haggard,  and  half-clothed  shepherds,  and  shepherd's 
dogs ;  and  there  are  herds  of  oxen  of  a  very  large 
and  fine  species,  and  with  horns  as  beautiful  as  ant- 
lers. But,  with  these  exceptions,  there  is  no  life. 
From  the  summits  of  the  hills,  and  there  are  consid- 
erable hills,  the  eye  stretches  over  a  wide  reach  of 
country,  extending  for  miles  in  every  direction,  and 
here  and  there  an  old  barrack-like  dwelling,  a 
crumbling  tower,  a  shrine,  or  a  crucifix ;  but  no 
cheerful  habitations,  no  curling  smoke,  no  domestic 
sounds,  nothing  that  indicates  human  life  and  "  coun- 
try contentments."  It  is  one  vast  desolation ;  a  fit 
surrounding  for  the  tomb  of  nations.  As  we  caught 
the  view  of  St.  Peter's,  and  the  domes  and  spires  of 
the  three  hundred  and  sixty  churches  of  Rome,  it 
seemed  as  if  life  were  still  beating  at  the  heart  of 
the  body  doomed  to  die  first  at  the  extremities. 

You  may  expect  to  know  my  sensations  on  first 
seeing  Rome.  I  cannot  tell  them,  my  dear  C.  I  do 
not  myself  know  what  they  were.     I  forgot  myself. 

Two  miles  from  Rome  we  passed  the  Tiber,  on 


148  ROME. 

the  Ponte  Molle,  the  place  where  Constantine  saw 
the  vision  of  the  cross  !  and,  after  passing  this,  the 
aspect  of  the  country  changes,  and  immediately 
around  the  walls  of  Rome  there  is  a  belt  of  villas 
and  gardens,  a  little  discordant  with  what  has  pre- 
ceded, like  gayly-dressed  people  in  a  funeral  train. 
The  city,  as  we  entered  it  at  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,* 
has  the  gay  aspect  of  a  modern  capital,  with  its 
fountain,  statues,  churches,  and  uniform  modern  edi- 
fices ;  but  there  are  certain  antiques,  like  the  Egyp- 
tian obelisk,  covered  with  hieroglyphics,  which  re- 
semble heirlooms  in  the  house  of  gay  young  people 
w^ho  have  just  set  up  housekeeping.  We  had  plenty 
of  time  for  observation,  while  Francois  was  trying 
to  soften  the  officials.  But  their  hearts  were  too 
hard  for  his  rhetoric,  and  so  we  drove  to  the  Dogana 
through  the  Corso,  the  principal  street  in  Rome, 
long  and  narrow,  looking,  I  fancy,  as  we  proceeded 
at  a  foot-pace,  with  a  soldier  on  each  side,  like  cap- 
tured contrabandists.  The  Corso  was  full  of  gay 
equipages,  filled  with  English  people,  and  lined,  for 
the  most  part,  with  mean  shops,  with  mean,  every- 
day commodities ;  such  shops  and  such  "  goods"  as 
you  would  see  in  the  "  Main-street"  of  Hudson,  or  in 
any  other  second-rate  town.  We  had  no  feeling  of 
Rome  till  we  arrived  at  the  custom-house,  and  saw 
there  some  witnesses  for  the  old  city,  in  a  portico 
with  superb  antique  Corinthian  pillars.  After  a  lit- 
tle fussy  ceremony,  a  mere  make-believe  peep  into 

*  This  place  is  said  to  derive  its  name,  not  from  the  people — they 
do  not  figure  in  these  parts — but  from  an  ancient  grove  of  poplars. 


ROME.  149 

our  baggage,  and  the  payment  of  a  few  pauls  for 
this  gentle  treatment,  we  were  released,  and  are  at 
this  moment  in  comfortable  apartments  in  the  Hotel 
de  Russie.  We  are  in  Rome  /  We  were  beginning 
to  think  the  deep-blue  sky  of  Italy  a  traveller's  sto- 
ry, but  here  it  is.    The  evening  is  delicious ;  there  is 

"  An  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air." 

Our  apartments  open  on  a  terraced  garden,  and 
we  have  been  walking  in  it  amid  orange  and  lem- 
on trees  bent  with  fruit,  and  roses  and  flowering 
shrubs  in  bloom.  Some  of  these,  planted  in  vases, 
stand  on  fragments  of  antique  sculptured  pillars.  I 
observed  one  on  a  colossal  foot,  chiselled,  perhaps, 
by  a  Greek  artist.  At  every  turn  there  are  statues, 
antiques  too,  patched  as  our  grandmothers  patched 
china — Greeks  with  modern  Roman  throats,  toes 
and  fingers  pieced  on  ad  libitum,  and  even  a  trunk 
with  legs,  arms,  and  head  supplied.  How  the  organ 
of  veneration  must  thrive  in  Rome ! 


W.  came  to  us  immediately  on  our  arrival.  Could 
anything  be  more  fortunate  than  our  meeting  him 
here  where  the  girls  most  need  the  brother — friend 
he  will  be  to  them,  and  we  all  need  the  refreshment 
of  his  society  and  the  comfort  of  his  co-operation. 
K — n  is  here  too  for  the  winter ;  so  we  have  sud- 
denly come  into  possession  of  an  independent  for- 
tune !  W.  has  engaged  our  lodgings  near  Monte 
Cavallo,  looking  out  on  a  green  hill,  the  Viminal, 
with  a  garden  adjoining  in  English  occupancy,  and, 

N2 


150  ROME. 

of  course,  in  high  cultivation,  and,  what  is  better 
than  all  the  rest,  with  the  sun  shining  on  us  from  its 
rising  to  its  setting.  We  pay  twenty-three  Louis, 
one  hundred  and  one  dollars,  a  month  for  our  rooms ; 
all  other  expenses  are  a  separate  affair.  This  low 
price,  as  we  are  assured  it  is,  is  in  consequence 
of  our  being  far  from  the  English  (fashionable) 
quarter.  But,  as  we  have  no  acquaintances,  that 
does  not  signify,  and  the  acquaintances  we  wish  to 
make,  and  daily  visit,  the  Colosseum,  the  Forum, 
&c.,  are  very  near  to  us.  The  tribute  which  pil- 
grims from  all  parts  of  the  world  pay  to  these  ruins 
is  now  the  chief  support  of  Rome.  There  are  here 
every  year  from  ten  to  twenty  thousand  strangers, 
many  residents  for  the  winters,  and  English  people 
noted  for  the  liberality  of  their  expenditure. 

We  have  been  to  the  Colosseum,  not  farther  from 
us  than  your  neighbour  S — y  is  from  you — not  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  Where  it  stands,  apart  from 
modern  Rome,  the  ground  is  grass-grown  and  bro- 
ken into  footpaths.  You  have  seen  a  hundred  pic- 
tures of  it,  read  at  least  a  hundred  descriptions,  and 
you  know  its  dimensions,*  and  yet,  my  dear  C,  you 
cannot  imagine  its  impression.  I  do  not  mean  the 
impression  of  its  unbroken  circle ;  of  its  gradation  of 
Doric,  Ionic,  and  Corinthian  orders ;  of  the  soft 
colour  of  its  stone  with  its  ages  of  weather-staining ; 
of  the  shrubs  waving  like  banners  from  its  lofty 
heights ;  of  the  slender  vines  that  penetrate  its  crev- 

*  Its  circumference  is  1641  feet,  its  height  157.    The  length  of  the 
arena  is  285  feet,  and  its  breadth  182. 


ROME.  151 

ices,  and  hang  out  their  flexile  curtains;  of  its  beds 
of  glowing  flowers,  or  of  the  mossy  matting  of  its 
ruined  stairs.*  Now  all  this  is  form  and  colouring, 
which  here,  as  elsewhere,  holds  discourse  with  the 
senses.  But  it  is  that,  w^hile  standing  under  the 
shadow  of  this  mighty  ruin,  you  first  fully  realize 
that  you  are  in  Rome — ancient  Rome ;  that  you  are 
treading  the  ground  Caesar,  Cicero,  and  Brutus  trod, 
and  seeing  what  they  saw ;  that  this  is  the  scene  of 
the  magnificent  crimes  and  great  deeds  that  fill  the 
blackest  and  brightest  pages  in  the  Old  World's 
story.  Under  your  foot  is  a  remnant  of  the  massive 
pavement  on  which  the  triumphal  procession  trod ; 
before  you  is  the  Via  Sacra,  the  Roman  Forum,  the 
broken  temples  of  the  gods,  the  Palatine  Hill,  the 
ruins  of  the  Caesars'  palaces,  the  arches  of  Constan- 
tine  and  Titus,  and  the  Flavian  amphitheatre,  the 
Niagara  of  ruins ! 

"  The  heart  runs  o'er 
With  silent  worship  of  the  great  of  old ; 
The  dead  but  sceptred  sovereigns,  who  still  rule 
Our  spirits  from  their  urns." 

This  is  no  poetic  exaggeration.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
Byron  is  the  only  person  who  can  describe  sensa- 
tions which  people  of  far  more  common  mould  than 
his  feel  here. 

The  Colosseum  was  built  chiefly  by  the  Jewish 
captives  after  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  and  was 
dedicated  by  Titus  with  the  slaughter  of  5000  wild 

*  A  book  has  been  written  on  the  botany  of  the  Colosseum,  in 
which  260  species  of  plants  are  noted. 


152  ROME. 

beasts.  It  was  devoted  to  gladiatorial  contests,  to 
the  fight  of  captive  men  with  captive  beasts  and 
with  one  another  5  subsequently  it  was  the  great 
arena  where  Christians  furnished  forth  the  dramatic 
show  of  being  torn  limb  from  limb  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  their  fellow-men  and  women.*  The  gladia- 
torial games  were  celebrated  here  for  the  last  time 
in  the  fifth  century.  Teleinachus,  a  Christian  who 
in  vain  had  remonstrated  against  them,  threw  himself 
between  the  combatants,  and  was  immediately  killed 
by  the  enraged  spectators.  In  consequence  of  this, 
the  Emperor  Honorius  abolished  the  games,  and  the 
martyr  became  a  saint. 

The  structure  remained  entire  until  the  eleventh 
century,  when  by  a  Roman  noble  it  was  converted 
into  a  fortress  esteemed  nearly  impregnable.  In 
1332  it  was  the  scene  of  a  bullfight.  At  the  end 
of  the  fourteenth  century  it  was  converted  into  an 
hospital.  In  the  fifteenth  a  portion  of  its  mar- 
ble was  burned  into  lime.  In  the  sixteenth  century 
it  became  the  quarry  from  which  the  nobles  of  Rome 
constructed  their  palaces,  and  partisans  of  all  par- 
ties their  fortifications.  In  the  seventeenth  Sixtus 
V.  attempted  to  establish  a  woollen  manufactory 
here !  After  all  these  vicissitudes,  the  papal  au- 
thority was  at  last  interposed  to  save  this  magnifi- 

*  Those  who  take  disheartening  views  of  the  progress  of  man 
should  solace  themselves  with  looking  back  in  the  world's  histo- 
ry. What  would  now  be  thought  of  the  autocrats  of  Austria  and 
Russia  (not  men  noted  for  hearts  over-soft)  if  they  were  to  furnish 
for  their  subjects  the  shows  that  amused  the  polished  Romans? 
Has  not  Christianity  done  something  for  us  ? 


ROME.  153 

cent  relic  of  antiquity  by  Christian  consecration. 
Benedict  XIV.  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century 
sanctified  it,  and  erected  a  cross  in  the  centre  of  the 
arena. 

Considerable  reparations  have  been  made  from 
time  to  time,  and  are  still  making.  The  original  el- 
evation is  preserved  entire  but  in  one  small  segment 
of  the  circle,  and  there  it  appears  stupendous.  Its 
five  rows  of  seats  are  in  part  still  manifest.  The 
seats  of  the  first  and  second  rows  were  cushioned, 
and  the  senators  and  those  of  consular  rank  occupied 
them.  They  ascended  in  position,  and  they  descend- 
ed in  rank,  till  they  came  to  the  poor  women  who 
were  above  and  below  all ! 

When  I  thought  of  the  purpose  to  which  this  the- 
atre was  devoted,  I  felt  my  impression  of  its  sublim- 
ity abated  by  my  consciousness  of  the  degradation 
of  humanity.  My  imagination  called  back  from  the 
dead  the  hundred  thousand  people  who  filled  this 
vast  circuit.  I  saw  the  Roman  ladies  looking  down 
on  the  poor  captives  of  the  forest,  and  the  human 
sacrifice ;  and  I  wondered  if,  when  they  met  in  their 
passage  through  the  vomitories,  they  talked  of  the 
ast  new  fashion,  and  tenderly  inquired  of  the  young 
mother  "  if  her  baby  had  yet  cut  a  tooth !"  That 
monster,  " custom,^  does  so  harden  the  heart ! 


We  have  been  to  St.  Peter's,  and  are  not  disap- 
pointed. The  great  works  of  nature  and  art  al- 
ways surpassed  my  expectations.    We  walked  in  si- 


1 54  ROME. 

lence  up  and  down  the  nave,  made  the  circuit  of  the 
wall,  stood  under  the  glorious  dome,  and  content- 
ed ourselves  with  the  effect  of  its  atmosphere  with- 
out studying  the  details.  The  most  beautiful  object 
in  approaching  St.  Peter's  is  certainly  not  itself;  the 
dome  is  lost  in  this  view,  and  the  fagade  has  neither 
grandeur  nor  harmony.  Nor  the  colonnades  with 
their  row  of  statues,  but  the  beautiful  fountains,  the 
very  types  of  life,  grace,  and  youth  where  every- 
thing else  is  fixed  and  heavy. 


Sunday. — We  have  been  out  of  the  Porta  del 
Popolo  to-day  to  attend  service  in  the  English  chap- 
el. It  is  greatly  to  the  honour  of  the  pope  that  he 
permits  the  public  worship  of  heretics  here  in  the 
very  heart  of  his  dominion.  This  is  better  than  the 
burning  of  the  convent  in  our  land  of  liberty  of  con- 
science and  universal  toleration !  There  was  a  con- 
gregation of  from  six  to  seven  hundred  people,  with- 
out any  notable  attraction  in  the  officiating  clergy- 
man. It  is  cheering  to  see  the  English,  wherever 
they  most  congregate,  maintaining  the  observances 
of  their  religion.  We  found  at  Wiesbaden,  Frank- 
fort, Geneva,  and  here  at  Rome,  a  regular  English 
service  on  Sunday;  not  a  nominal  thing,  for  the 
English,  with  very  few  exceptions,  scrupulously  at- 
tend it.* 

*  We  rarely  saw  English  people  travelling  on  Sunday ;  and  as  it 
involves  no  discredit,  and  to  abstain  from  it  often  imposes  disappoint- 
ment and  discomfort,  this  indicates  the  steadfastness  of  their  reli- 
gious principles.    Captain  Basil  Hall's  *'  Patchwork,"  just  published, 


ROME.  155 

I  HAD  been  walking  about  St.  Peter's  to-day  till  I 
felt  the  exaltation  which  the  grandeur,  the  vast  riches, 
and  endless  w^onders  of  that  glorious  church  produces, 
when  I  was  suddenly  attracted  by  the  changing 
group  around  the  bronze  statue  of  St.  Peter.  This, 
formerly  a  statue  of  Jupiter,  has  been  made  by  papal 
consecration  the  presiding  divinity  of  the  Christian 
temple.  It  is  a  sitting  figure,  elevated  a  few  feet 
from  the  floor,  with  a  circlet  round  the  head  (now  a 
glory),  the  left  hand  raised,  and  the  right  pressing  a 
key  to  the  breast.  The  rigid  face  has  a  cold,  inflex- 
ible expression  most  unsuited  to  the  impulsive  dis- 
ciple. It  looks  like  the  idol  it  is ;  and  rather  singu- 
larly in  keeping  with  this  expression  is  the  right 
foot  protruding  from  the  drapery,  condescendingly 
presented  to  the  kiss  of  the  faithful. 

I  have  often  heard  of  the  kissing  of  St.  Peter's 
toe  ;  but,  till  I  saw^  grown-up  men  and  women  ac- 
tually press  their  lips  to  this  w^orn  bronze  toe,  then . 
rub  their  foreheads  against  it  (a  phrenological  man- 
ifestation !),  and  finally  kneel  before  the  image,  I  had 
never  fairly  conceived  of  this  idolatry ;  and  yet, 
should  we  call  it  so  ?  Who  shall  analyze  the  feel- 
ing in  which  love  and  reverence  blend  ?  a  nicer  art 
than  to  separate  the  ray  of  light ;  who  shall  judge 

contains  an  interesting  history  of  the  steady  efforts  of  the  English  at 
Rome,  which  resulted  in  the  establishment  of  "  a  Protestant  ceme- 
tery, a  Church  of  England  service,  and  a  charitable  fund  dispensed 
at  a  Reformed  altar  to  the  subjects  of  the  sovereign  pontiff"  God 
save  the  nation  that  binds  to  its  altars  its  domestic  ties  and  its  char- 
ities. 


156  ROME. 

and  condemn  the  impulses  of  devotion  in  an  ignorant 
mind  ?  I  will  not,  but  rather  describe  the  scene  I 
saw  before  this  image  to-day.  Among  the  throng 
who  came  and  went  were  two  peasant- women,  both 
in  costume.  Each  had  a  child  in  her  arms,  one  a 
boy  about  two  years  old,  the  other  a  girl  somewhat 
younger.  They  were  ragged,  but  I  am  accustomed 
to  seeing  these  little,  lost  cherubs  in  rags ;  and  hap- 
pily, in  preparation  for  a  visit  to  the  grand  Basilica, 
they  had  undergone  the  rare  ceremony  of  a  washing ; 
and  their  brilliant  eyes  shone  out  from  the  unsullied 
golden  ground  of  the  Roman  complexion — but  gold- 
en or  yellow  hardly  describes  their  peculiar  tint  of 
skin — ^Victor  Hugo  has  done  it  well  in  poetry : 

"  Ilsemble  qu'il  est  dore  du  rayon  du  soleil." 

About  this  glowing  complexion  hung  the  richest 
curling  hair  of  a  glossy  golden  brown.  The  mother 
of  the  boy,  after  kissing  the  toe  herself,  put  his  lips 
to  it.  He  submitted  to  the  ceremony  somewhat  re- 
luctantly, faintly  touching  it  with  his  hps,  and  giving 
his  nose  a  brush  across  it. 

As  he  raised  his  head  he  saw  the  little  girl  whose 
mother  was  waiting  for  her  turn,  and  half  springing 
from  his  mother's  arms,  he  kissed  the  child's  round 
cheek  of  warm  flesh  and  blood,  and  uttered  a  joyous 
chuckle  at  its  contrast  with  the  bronze  toe  that  re- 
sounded through  arch  and  aisle.  It  was  a  pretty 
triumph  of  nature ;  a  living  picture  in  this  land  of 
pictures  !* 

*  I  observed  the  decent-looking  people  among  the  faithful  discreet- 
ly wiped  the  toe  before  kissing  it,  and  Mr.  G,  told  us  that  when  his 


ROME.  157 

December  30. — A  most  beautiful  morning,  my 
dear  C.  The  sun  has  just  risen  above  the  Viminal 
Hill.  I  perceive  a  slight  hoarfrost  on  the  garden 
opposite  to  us.  The  leaves  on  the  tall  orange-tree 
by  our  window  look  slightly  chilled ;  and  the  poor 
women  who  are  passing  with  their  shawls  close 
drawn  over  their  heads  shrink  from  the  enemy  as 
ours  would  if  the  mercury  were  ten  degrees  below 
zero.     This  is  the  first  frost  w^e  have  felt  in  Rome. 

We  devoted  yesterday  morning  to  Crawford's  and 
Thorwaldsen's  studii.  They  present  a  striking  con- 
trast of  the  toils,  privations,  and  difficulties  of  the 
young  and  struggling  genius,  with  the  comfort,  riches, 
and  glory  that  wait  on  him  who  has  won  the  day. 
Crawford  is  at  this  moment  laid  up,  dangerously  ill 
from  overwork,  and  Thorwaldsen  is  making  a  visit  in 
his  native  country  which  is  little  short  of  a  triumphal 
progress.  Sculptors,  from  the  weight  of  their  mate- 
rial, are  compelled  to  work  on  the  ground  floor. 
Crawford's  studio  occupies  three  obscure,  small,  and 
sunless  apartments,  so  cold  and  damp  that  they  strike 
a  chill  through  you.  Here  he  has  a  few  things  fin- 
ished, and  several  spirited  and  beautiful  models  that 
are  to  be  done  into  marble  if  he  has  orders  for  them. 
The  sculptor  labours  under  a  disadvantage  from  the 
costliness  of  his  material ;  if  he  be  poor  he  cannot 
put  his  design  into  marble  till  it  is  in  part  paid  for. 
Our  countrymen,  not  being  practised  in  these  mat- 
holiness  does  it  this  reverence,  his  attendants  first  spring  forward  and 
give  it  an  effective  rub  with  their  cambric  handkerchiefs. 

Vol.  II.— 0 


158  ROME. 

ters,  have  not  sufficiently  considered  this,  and  orders 
have  been  sometimes  given  with  generous  intentions, 
but  with  the  mercantile  idea  of  payment  on  delivery 
of  the  goods,  which  could  not  be  executed  for  want 
of  money  to  buy  the  block  of  marble.  It  is  the 
English  custom  to  pay  half  the  price  of  the  work  on 
giving  the  order.  Among  Crawford's  designs  is  a 
very  noble  statue  of  Franklin.  It  is  meant  to  illus- 
trate his  discoveries  in  electricity ;  he  is  looking  up 
to  the  clouds  with  the  calm  assurance  of  conscious 
power.  What  an  embellishment  would  this  be  for 
one  of  the  Philadelphia  squares !  Another  design, 
which  seemed  to  me  to  belong  to  the  romantic  school, 
is  the  rain  of  snakes  described  in  the  Apocalypse. 
The  curse  is  falling  on  a  family.  The  group  inevi- 
tably reminds  you  of  the  Laocoon,  and  in  one  respect 
it  seemed  to  me  superior ;  the  parental  instinct  here 
triumphs  over  physical  anguish.  Crawford's  last 
and  most  finished  work  is  an  Orpheus,  which,  as  far 
as  discovery  has  yet  gone,  has  no  prototype  among 
the  ancient  sculptures.  He  has  presented  the  rare 
husband  at  the  moment  of  entering  hell.  Cerberus 
is  lulled,  and  his  heads  are  fallen  in  sleep ;  the  lyre  is 
closely  pressed  under  Orpheus's  left  arm,  and  his 
right  hand  shades  his  eyes,  as  if  to  concentrate  the 
light  on  entering  the  dark  region.  The  figure  will, 
I  believe,  bear  anatomical  criticism  ;  it  has  the  eflfect, 
at  any  rate,  to  an  unscientific  eye,  of  anatomical 
success.  It  is  light,  graceful,  and  spirited;  a  most 
expressive  imbodying  of  poetic  thought.  There  is 
the  beauty  of  perfect  symmetry  in  the  face,  with 


\y 


ROME.  ^  159 

a  shade  of  earnestness  which,  though  unusual  in 
classical  models,  does  not  at  all  impair  its  classical 
serenity.  The  young  man  is  said  to  possess  the 
courage  and  perseverance  that  is  bone  and  muscle 
to  genius ;  if  this  be  true,  he  is  sure  of  success,  and 
this  cold,  cheerless  studio  will,  at  some  future  time, 
be  one  of  the  Meccas  of  our  countrymen.* 

We  had  some  discussion  last  evening  with  our  Eng- 
lish friend  K — n  on  the  character  of  American  intel- 
lect, which  ended  in  his  confessing  his  surprise  at  what 
we  are  achieving.  "  I  find,"  he  said,  "  established 
here  and  at  Florence  three  American  artists  (Green- 
ough.  Powers,  and  Crawford).  We  have  but  three : 
Gibson,  Wyatt,  and  M'Donald :  and  you  have  Mr. 
Wilde  at  Florence,  who  has  set  himself  down  there 
to  write  the  life  of  Dante,  and  is  investigating  his 
subject  with  the  acuteness  of  a  thoroughbred  law- 
yer ;  and  here  is  Green,  your  consul,  who,  with  frail 
health,  has  determined  to  devote  twenty  years  to  a 
history  of  Italy !  I  told  a  friend  the  other  day  that 
we  must  put  to  whip  and  spur,  or  we  should  be  dis- 
tanced.*' It  is  something  new  to  hear  our  country 
admired  for  anything  but  cutting  down  forests  and 

*  On  our  return  to  Rome  from  Naples  we  had  the  pleasure  of  per- 
sonal acquaintance  with  Mr.  Crawford,  and  of  confirming  our  prepos- 
sessions in  his  favour  by  actual  observation.  The  tide  had  even  then 
turned  in  his  favour.  He  had  recovered  his  health  and  become 
known  to  many  of  his  countrymen.  While  this  book  is  going 
through  the  press  we  hear  that  a  sum  of  $2500  has  been  made  up 
in  Boston  for  his  Orpheus,  We  hope  that  New- York  will  not  lag 
behind,  but  will  extend  her  hand  to  her  own  son  while  there  is  yet 
some  faith  and  generosity  in  doing  so.  When  he  becomes  better 
known  there  will  be  no  merit  in  sending  him  orders. 


160  ROME. 

building  up  towns  in  a  day,  or  making  railroads  and 
canals;  but  surely,  the  same  power  that  in  one 
stage  of  our  progress  overcomes  physical  difficulties, 
will  in  another  achieve  intellectual  conquests. 

The  extensive  stables  of  the  Barberini  palace  have 
been  converted  into  a  studio  for  Thorswaldsen,  and 
they  are  filled  with  the  most  exquisite  forms  which 
invention,  memory,  imagination,  and  love  can  take. 
The  collection  of  sculptures  that  bears  his  name  gives 
you  some  idea  of  the  variety  and  beauty  of  his  works. 
That  which  impressed  me  most,  and  brought  tears  to 
my  eyes,  which  I  ignorantly  supposed  marble  could 
not,  is  a  colossal  statue  of  Christ.  His  arms  are  ex- 
tended, and  he  seems  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and 
I  will  give  you  rest."  There  is  a  most  affecting 
blending  of  benignity  and  power  in  his  expression ; 
you  feel  that  "  God  has  anointed  him  above  his  fel- 
lows," and  that  "  he  will  save  to  the  uttermost  those 
that  come  unto  him."  The  head  of  our  Saviour  in 
Leonardo  da  Vinci's  Last  Supper  is  the  only  one 
that  approaches  this  in  force  of  expression.  Christ 
is  attended  by  his  disciples,  six  on  either  side.  The 
statues  were  done  for  a  church  in  Copenhagen. 

There  is  another  admirable  set  of  figures,  design- 
ed, I  believe,  for  the  pediment  of  the  same  church. 
These  are  necessarily  so  arranged  as  to  make  on 
each  side  a  descending  line  from  the  centre  figure. 
This  is  done  with  consummate  art ;  each  figure  seems, 
without  design  or  choice,  to  have  fallen  into  the  at- 
titude expressive  of  the  feeling  of  the  moment. 


ROME.  161 

John  the  Baptist  preaching  is  the  middle  figure; 
next  stands  a  scoffer,  his  head  thrown  back.  An 
old  man  bends  over  his  staff  in  devout  attention ;  a 
young  shepherd  is  riveted  to  the  spot,  while  two 
boys  are  playing  with  his  dog;  a  child  is  leaning  on 
his  mother's  shoulder ;  and  another  mother  is  sitting 
on  the  ground,  with  her  infant  in  her  arms.  Besides 
sending  these  great  productions  to  his  native  coun- 
try, Thorswaldsen  has  founded  a  museum  in  Copen- 
hagen, and  enriched  it  with  copies  of  his  works; 
and  thus  he  will  send  pilgrims  trooping  from  all 
parts  of  the  world  to  his  far,  cold  land.  No  wonder 
the  Danes  love  him,  and  follow  his  footsteps,  load- 
ing him  with  gifts  and  honours. 


My  dear  C, 

This  is  the  festa  of  St.  Peter ;  of  course,  a  great 
day  in  Rome.  As  we  have  been  so  long  negligent 
of  the  privilege  we  may  any  day  enjoy  of  seeing  the 
pope,  we  went  this  morning  to  high  mass  at  St.  Pe- 
ter's, where  he  w^as  to  be  present.  He  has  the  merit 
of  having  risen  from  the  lowest  grade,  of  society, 
and  is  said,  besides  having  considerable  learning,  to 
be  an  amiable,  inoffensive  old  man.  You  know  the 
great  democratic  principle  of  the  admission  of  all 
to  all  employments  has  ever  been  fundamental  m 
the  Catholic  Church. 

A  Catholic  ceremony  is,  to  the  eye  of  a  Protestant, 
more  or  less  a  dramatic  show,  with  a  rich  theatrical 
wardrobe  and  dull  actors.     What,  I  wonder,  would 

02 


162  ROME. 

an  humble  student  of  the  Gospels,  who  had  never 
heard  of  the  Catholic  Church,  think  on  coming  into 
St.  Peter's,  and  walking  up  the  nave  under  its  vault- 
ed and  golden  ceiling,  with  its  incrustations  of  pre- 
cious marbles,  its  sculptured  columns,  its  magnificent 
arches,  statues,  mosaic  pictures,  and  monuments ;  its 
gilded  bronze  baldachino  (made  of  the  spoils  of  the 
Pantheon),  its  hundred  lamps  burning  round  St.  Pe- 
ter's tomb,  with  his  image  presiding — and  let  it  be 
his  festa,  with  the  pope  in  the  triple  crown,  gor- 
geously arrayed,  surrounded  by  his  cardinals  in  crim- 
son and  embroidered  satin,  attended  by  his  Swiss 
guard  in  their  fantastic  uniform,  and  by  his  guarda 
nobili  ;  what  if  there  w^ere  such  an  uninformed  per- 
son as  I  have  imagined  among  these  multifarious 
spectators  from  all  quarters  of  the  world,  what 
would  he  think  on  being  told  that  this  was  a  Chris- 
tian temple,  and  these  the  disciples  and  ministers  of 
the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus,  who  taught  that  God  only 
accepted  such  as  worshipped  Him  in  spirit  and  in 
truth  1 

The  ceremonies  we  saw  to-day  (and  which  cer- 
tainly would  not  contribute  to  this  supposed  person's 
farther  enlightenment)  I  shall  not  describe  to  you. 
The  pope,  who  is  an  ugly  old  man  with  a  big  nose 
and  a  stupid  expression,  had  an  elevated  seat  behind 
the  tribune,  where  his  priestly  attendants  seemed 
chiefly  occupied  in  the  care  of  his  embroidered  vest- 
ment, which  flowed  many  a  yard  on  the  ground 
when  he  stood,  was  borne  by  them  when  he  moved, 
and  nicely  folded  and  replaced  in  his  lap  when  he 


ROME.  163 

again  sat  down.  The  cardinals,  as  a  class  of  men, 
are  very  noble  in  their  appearance.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  two  or  three  middle-aged  men,  they  are 
old,  and  have  the  badge  of  age,  their  thin  and  white 
locks  fringing  their  crimson  scullcaps.  They  too  had 
train-bearers  from  an  inferior  order  of  priests.  One 
part  of  the  ceremony  was  solemn  and  thrilling,  as  a 
devotional  sentiment  expressed  simultaneously  by  a 
mass  of  men  must  always  be.  At  the  elevation  of 
the  Host  all  the  Catholics  present  bared  their  heads 
and  fell  on  their  knees,  the  swords  of  the  soldiers 
ringing  on  the  pavement.  The  music  was  delicious. 
After  the  chantings  were  finished,  and  his  holiness 
had  blessed  the  assembly,  he  w^as  placed  on  a  chair 
covered  with  red  velvet,  the  triple  and  jewelled 
crown  was  put  on  his  head,  the  chair  was  placed  on 
poles  also  covered  w^ith  red  velvet,  and  borne  on  the 
shoulders  of  twelve  priests.  On  each  side  was  car- 
ried a  huge  fan  of  peacock's  feathers;  and  thus 
suited  and  attended,  he  made  a  progress  down  the 
nave  and  into  a  side-chapel.  He  shut  his  eyes, 
drooped  his  head,  and  appeared  to  me  like  a  sanc- 
timonious old  woman ;  but,  to  show  how  just  such 
passing  judgments  are,  I  was  afterward  told  the 
poor  old  man  said  he  habitually  closed  his  eyes  to 
escape  the  giddiness  occasioned  by  his  position. 

As  we  stood  in  the  vestibule  awaiting  our  car- 
riage, cardinal  after  cardinal  drove  off;  and  as  I 
saw  each  heavy  coach  with  fat  black  horses,  gild- 
ed and  tasselled  harness,  and  its  complement  of 
three  footmen  in  embroidered  liveries,  dash  through 


164  ROME. 

an  ignorant,  wretched  multitude,  nearly  running 
over  the  blind  and  lame,  those  words  of  doom  oc- 
curred to  me :  "  Wo  be  to  the  shepherds  of  Israel 
that  feed  themselves !  should  not  the  shepherds  feed 
the  flocks  1"  "  The  diseased  have  ye  not  strength- 
ened, neither  have  ye  healed  that  which  was  sick, 
neither  have  ye  bound  up  that  which  was  broken, 
neither  have  ye  brought  again  that  which  was 
driven  away,  neither  have  ye  sought  that  which 
was  lost."  But  let  us  not  forget,  my  dear  C,  that 
from  the  herd  of  priests  and  monks  issued  such  men 
as  WicklifFe  and  Luther,  and  that  in  their  body,  and 
having  died  or  to  die  in  their  faith,  are  such  men  as 
San  Carlo,  Fenelon,  and  our  own  C* 

Tired  of  waiting,  K.  and  I  left  the  rest  and  walked 
home.  Passing  a  half-open  door,  we  heard  a  mur- 
muring of  tiny  voices,  and,  looking  in,  we  saw  in  a 
dark,  damp,  cold  den,  lighted  only  through  this 
half-open  door,  a  dame's  infant-school.f     The  teach- 

*  And  here,  too,  for  the  sake  of  our  charities,  I  quote  M.  Sismon- 
di,  who  j^s  no  lover  of  priests,  and  assuredly  no  favourer  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  religion.  He  says, "  The  pontifical  government  counts 
among  its  servants  more  men  distinguished  for  talents,  and  fewer  for 
their  vices  or  want  of  probity,  than  any  government  of  Europe !" 
Query — Does  he  not  mean  of  Continental  Europe  ? 

t  The  powerful  writer  of  the  address  to  the  working  classes  in  Italy 
V  in  the  "  Apostolato  Popolare"  says,  in  speaking  of  the  defective 
teaching  to  the  few  of  that  class  in  Italy  who  are  taught,  "  Even  re- 
ligious books  are  given  to  them  in  a  dead  language  which  they  do 
not  understand.  The  books  which  the  rulers  cause  to  be  distributed 
in  the  elementary  schools  teach  them  to  be  servile,  poor-spirited,  and 
selfish^  and  after  the  Austrian  catechism— the  common  model — 
'  That  subjects  should  deport  themselves  towards  their  sovereigns  as 
slaves  towards  their  masters,'  and  that  the  power  of  the  sovereign 
*  extends  to  their  property  as  well  as  to  their  person.'" 


ROME.  165 

er,  a  hard-featured  subject,  was  knitting  away  for 
life,  and  teaching  these  little  things,  two,  three,  and 
four  years  old,  their  prayers  in  Latin,  which  they  re- 
peated with  the  appointed  crossings  and  genuflex- 
ions !  Most  of  them  were  ragged  and  dirty,  but 
beautiful  enough  for  Guido's  angels.  I  thought  of 
the  well-lighted,  warmed,  and  spacious  school-rooms 
in  my  own  country,  and  of  the  hght  poured  into  the 
young  mind  there  !* 


We  have  been  looking  at  frescoes  to-day ;  and  if 
I  should  run  into  rant,  my  dear  C,  about  them,  do 
not  think  it  is  to  impose  on  you  New  World  people 
who  never  have  seen  them,  but  that  it  is  the  effect 
of  novelty  and  surprise  added  to  their  intrinsic  beau- 
ty. You  are  probably  aware,  as  the  name  implies, 
that  they  are  put  on  the  wall  while  the  plaster  is 
fresh ',  of  course  they  must  be  executed  with  great 
rapidity.  The  ceiling  and  the  walls  of  the  private 
houses  in  Italy  are  embellished  in  this  wayj-  and 
though  often  done  without  much  expenditure  of  art 
or  money,  they  are  so  very  pretty  that  I  rather 
dread  seeing  again  our  blank  ceilings.  Fresco 
painting  is  to  us  a  new  revelation  of  the  power  of 
the  art ',  and  such  a  fresco  as  Raphael's  Sibyls,  his 
School  of  Athens,  or  Domenichino's  Life  and  Death 
of  St.  Cecilia,  in  a  certain  little  chapel  here,  seem  to 

*  What  a  curiosity  to  an  Italian  teacher  would  a  list  of  our  school* 
books  be  !  What  an  inestimable  treasure  to  Italian  pupils  a  single 
one — Miss  Robbins's  Popular  Lessons,  for  example  ! 


166  ROME. 

me  as  superior  to  an  easel  painting  as  an  epic  is  to 
a  lyric  poem.  Unfortunately,  there  are  but  few  of 
these  masterpieces  in  good  preservation.  They  suf- 
fer more  than  oil  paintings  from  damp  and  neglect. 
The  Romans  had  this  art  in  great  perfection.  I 
have  seen  in  a  gallery  of  Titus's  baths,  in  an  apart- 
ment of  Augustus's  palace,  and  in  the  tomb  of  Au- 
gustus's freedmen,  all  now  far  under  ground,  fres- 
coes, medallions,  flowers,  birds,  divinities,  &c.,  traced 
with  accuracy  and  grace,  and  the  colours  still  vivid. 
The  Nozze  Aldobrandini,  now  hanging  in  the  library 
of  the  Vatican,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
old  frescoes.  It  is  a  representation  of  a  Greek  wed- 
ding, is  supposed  to  be  a  Greek  painting,  and  was 
found  in  the  baths  of  Titus.  Guido's  Aurora,  one 
of  the  most  exquisite  poetic  conceptions  ever  mani- 
fested to  the  eye  of  man,  is  still  as  fresh  as  if  it  were 
just  dyed  in  the  rainbow,  on  the  ceiling  of  an  apart- 
ment in  the  Ruspigliosi  palace. 

Raphael's  Sibyls  is  also  a  masterpiece,  and  it  has 
an  advantage  over  the  Aurora  in  bearing  the  impress 
of  the  true  religion.  It  seems  to  me  the  most  for- 
tunate subject  a  painter  ever  chose.  It  is  painted  in 
an  obscure  little  church  {Santa  Maria  della  Pace) ; 
so  uncalculating  is  genius  !  The  place  to  be  cover- 
ed was  an  arch  in  the  nave,  the  most  awkward  pos- 
sible, it  would  seem,  for  the  disposition  of  the  fig- 
ures. But  difficulties  were  only  spurs  to  the  genius 
of  Raphael ;  and  so  perfect  is  the  grace  and  nature 
of  this  picture  that  it  would  never  occur  to  you  he 
had  not  place  and  space  at  will.    As  this,  after  see- 


ROME.  167 

ing  the  galleries  of  Florence  and  Rome,  is  my  fa- 
vourite picture,  suffer  me  to  describe  it  to  you,  my 
dear  C. 

The  four  sibyls,  the  lay  prophetesses  who  are  sup- 
posed to  have  intimated  to  the  Old  World  the  reve- 
lations they  had  received  of  the  coming  of  our  Sav- 
iour, are  the  subjects  of  the  picture.  The  time 
chosen  is  the  moment  of  the  angels'  communication 
to  the  inspired  women.  The  first  is  a  beautiful 
young  creature  in  the  freshest  ripeness  of  woman- 
hood. Her  record-book  is  in  her  lap,  and  her  glow- 
ing face,  turned  towards  the  angel,  conveys  the  an- 
nunciation, "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on 
earth  peace  and  good-will  to  man !"  The  face  of 
the  cherub,  who  is  looking  at  her  intently,  with  his 
chin  resting  on  his  closed  hand,  indicates  the  joy 
there  is  in  heaven  at  these  tidings  to  man. 

The  next  sibyl  is  writing  down  the  revelation  as 
her  heavenly  messenger  reveals  it.  Her  face  is  in 
profile.  It  has  something  more  than  mere  joy ;  a 
comprehension  of  the  obstacles  to  be  met  and  the 
moral  revolutions  to  be  made.  There  is  eagerness 
in  the  angel's  face,  and  an  almost  Divine  energy  in 
the  young  woman's.  The  art  that  could  give  such 
force  to  such  delicate  lines  is  amazing.  The  face  is 
the  most  spiritual,  and  I  think  the  most  beautiful,  I 
ever  saw.  Her  whole  soul  is  so  intent  on  the  record 
she  is  making  that  it  seems  as  if  her  pen  would  cut 
through  the  tablet. 

The  next  figure  reminds  you  of  classical  models, 
of  something  pre-existent  in  art,  which  nothing  else 


168  ROME. 

in  the  picture  does.  It  is  very  lovely,  and  express- 
es perfect  awe  and  reverence,  as  if  her  inward  eye 
beheld  the  "  King  of  all  living  things." 

The  fourth  is  a  dark  old  woman,  who  compre- 
hends the  coming  struggles  with  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness, the  martyrdoms,  the  seed  to  be  sown  in  tears, 
and,  seeing  the  end,  is  unflinching  and  unfearing. 

What  must  Raphael  have  thought  and  felt  before 
he  painted  this  picture  ?  He  is  the  Shakspeare  of 
painters,  and  with  almost  as  full  a  measure  of  inspi- 
ration. The  picture  is  a  poem,  such  as  I  hope  may 
be  found  in  the  libraries  of  heaven,  if  the  soul  read 
there  without  the  intervention  of  letters. 

Domenichino's  Evangelists  are  in  the  four  angles 
of  the  dome  of  St.  Andrea  della  Valle.  They  are 
reckoned  his  best  frescoes,  and  he  is  reckoned  sec- 
ond only  to  Raphael.  The  freedom  and  vigour  of 
the  figures,  and  the  freshness  and  harmony  of  the 
colouring,  are  striking.  St.  Mark's  muscular  arm 
actually  stands  out  from  the  picture.  There  is  a 
lion  (his  symbol)  at  his  feet,  with  lovely  children 
playing  on  his  back,  at  whom  he  looks  round  so 
gently  that  he  reminded  me  of  the  humane  lion  of 
Bottom's  Pyramus  and  Thisbe. 

St.  John,  an  angel  who  holds  his  inkstand,  and 
two  little  boys  at  his  feet  twined  in  one  another's 
arms,  are  all  personifications  of  love ;  commentaries 
on  that  Divine  admonition, "  Little  children,  love  one 
another !" 

These  frescoes  are  the  transfer  and  perpetuation 
of  actual  existence.  They  have  but  the  one  fault 
of  Donatella's  statue — '^  they  do  not  breathe." 


ROME.  169 

After  looking  at  these  pictures  till  our  necks  were 
stiff,  we  went  to  San  Carlo  to  see  the  Cardinal  Vir- 
tues, also  by  Dominichino.  But  we  had  hardly  got 
in  when  a  young  priest  ordered  us  out,  because  there 
was  to  be  an  exposition  of  the  sacrament,  and  the 
presence  of  Protestant  ladies  must  not  profane  the 
ceremony.  "We  had  just  come  from  witnessing,  un- 
molested, the  same  service  in  the  Sistine  chapel,  in 
the  august  presence  of  the  pope,  and  so  we  told  him. 
But  the  young  priest  was  inexorable ;  exorcise  us  he 
would ;  and  so,  casting  a  pitiful  look  at  the  Lady 
Charity  who  sat  impotent  among  the  Cardinal  Vir- 
tues, we  were  swept  out.  This  is  the  first  discourtesy 
of  the  sort  we  have  met  with  here.  Narducci,  our 
landlord,  was  so  scandalized  when  we  told  him  of 
it,  that,  after  many  exclamations  of  "  is  it  possible  ? 
this — a  Roma !"  he  went  to  the  priest  and  brought 
an  apology,  and  a  very  civil  invitation  to  come  again 
to  the  church.  It  is  the  studied  policy  of  the  Roman 
people,  from  the  pope  down,  to  conciliate  the  Eng- 
lish ;  and  such  is  the  precedence  given  them  at  the 
religious  ceremonies,  and  so  great  their  number  in 
comparison  with  that  of  the  Italians,  that  you  might 
imagine  they  were  spectacles  got  up  for  their  edifica- 
tion.* 

*  There  is  another  reason,  as  I  have  been  told  by  a  pious  Catholic, 
why  so  few  of  his  faith  are  seen  at  the  ceremonies  at  St.  Peter's. 
They  are  considered  by  them  as  rather  spectacles  than  for  religious 
edification. 

Vol.  II.— P 


170  ROME- 

My  dear  C, 
January  1. — You  must  know  by  this  time  that 
our  friend  K — n  is  not  one  of  those  visiters  at  Rome 
whom  M.  Sismondi  justly  reproaches  with  regarding 
it  merely  as  "  a  museum  where  pictures,  statues, 
monuments  of  antiquity,  and  all  the  various  produc- 
tions of  the  fine  arts  are  exhibited  to  their  curiosity, 
to  whom  the  160,000  or  180,000  inhabitants  who 
live  within  the  walls  of  Rome  appear  merely  an  ac- 
cessory." K — n  sent  us  a  note  this  morning,  inform- 
ing us  that  there  would  be  an  immense  concourse  of 
the  Roman  people  in  costume  at  the  Piazza  Lavona, 
and  our  carriage  being  soon  announced  by  our  coach- 
man sending  us  up  two  splendid  bouquets — New- 
year's  favours* — we  set  off  to  see  the  show.  The 
Piazza  Lavona  is  the  largest  market-place  in  Rome. 
It  was  so  completely  filled  with  the  people,  and  their 
products  and  wares,  that  it  was  with  some  difficulty 
we  made  our  way  among  them.  At  last  we  got  a 
station  in  the  centre  of  the  piazza  near  a  fountain 
where  four  river-gods,  seated  on  rocks  from  which 
the  water  issues,  are  sustaining  an  obelisk.  There 
was  a  fair  going  on.  Very  few  of  the  people  were 
in  costume,  unless,  alas !  the  general  badge  of  South- 
ern Italy,  rags,  may  be  so  termed.     The   graceful 

*  This  was  not  an  uncommon  kindness  in  our  coachman  ;  often, 
on  returning  to  our  carriage  from  some  sight-seeing,  we  found  a  knot 
of  jonquils,  or  violets,  or  a  paper  of  delicious  smoking  chestnuts. 
•'  The  happiness  of  life  is  made  up  of  minute  fractions,  of  Httle  {not) 
soon  forgotten  charities."  The  humblest,  like  our  good  Mariano, 
may  throw  in  their  mite. 


ROME.  171 

white  head-dress  which  you  see  in  the  pictures  of  the 
Roman  peasantry  is  uncommon  now.     The  women 
wear  in  its  place  a  cotton  handkerchief  tied  under 
the  chin,  which  being  of  a  bright  colour,  has  rather 
a  pretty  effect.     Some  of  them  wear  cheap  English 
cottons,  but  the  general  dress  at  this  season  is  a  stout 
woollen  plaid,  almost  perdurable.*     The  men  wear 
hats  with  high,  sugar-loaf  crowns ;  the  shape  of  the 
brims  it  would  be  difficult  to  tell,  for  I  think  I  have 
never  seen  a  whole  one.     Their  breeches  are  un- 
strapped at  the  knee,  and  their  legs  sometimes  bare, 
but  usually  covered  with  what  may,  by  a  stretch  of 
courtesy,  be  called  a  stocking.     Every  man  who 
can  command  such  a  luxury  once  in  his  life  (it  is 
kept  on  as  long  as  it  retains  a  semblance  of  the 
original  garment)  wears  a  cloak,  and  as  gracefully 
as  if  he  were  a  troubadour.     They  really  look  like 
princes  in  disguise,  so  lofty,  independent,  and  majes- 
tical  is  their  bearing.     Mr.  Gibson,  the  English  art- 
ist, in  speaking  to  me  of  the  striking  grace  of  the 
Roman  people,  imputed  it,  in  part,  to  the  affabil- 
ity with  which  the}^  are  treated  by  their  superiors, 
which  saves  them  from  the  shyness  and  constraint 
whose  "  natural  language"  (to  borrow  the  phreno- 
logical term)  is  awkwardness.     We  alighted  to  see 
better  what  was  going  on.     Mariano  cautioned  us 
to  leave  in  the  carriage  whatever  might  be  purloined, 
as  the  place  was  full  of  "  Lombardi,"  and  explain- 

*  These  stuffs  are,  for  the  most  part,  manufactured  at  an  establish- 
ment belonging  to  the  government.  They  cost  seventy-five  cents 
per  yard,  a  yard  and  a  quarter  in  width.  They  are  sometimes  home- 
made. 


m 


172  ROME. 

ing  his  meaning  by  the  synonyme  Ladri  (thieves). 
A  curious  memorial  this  of  the  old  wars  with  the 
Lombards.  We  made  our  way  amid  grain,  vegeta- 
bles, poultry,  honey,  eggs,  coarse  wares,  wretched 
toys,  and  a  most  clamorous  crowd,  and  were  follow- 
ed by  ragged  boys  screaming  "  Vuole  un  facchino  V 
("  Do  you  wish  a  porter  1")  and  were  glad  to  get 
back  to  the  carriage  with  some  paltry  toys,  the  best 
we  could  find,  for  Mariano's  children.  I  have  never 
seen  the  children  look  so  happy  as  to-day ;  not  one 
but  had  some  trifling  toy. 

Lady  D.  finds  the  Roman  people  much  deteriora- 
ted during  her  twenty  years'  acquaintance  with  them, 
incivility  and  surliness  in  the  place  of  their  former 
graciousness  and  "  captivating  sweetness  of  man- 
ners." This  may  possibly  be,  in  part,  owing  to  the 
influx  of  English,  whose  national  manners  are  not 
calculated  to  call  forth  "  captivating  sweetness"  in 
return.  It  is  certain  the  people  here  do  not  mani- 
fest the  light-heartedness  and  careless  buoyancy  we 
have  seen  elsewhere  in  Italy ;  but  may  there  not  be 
the  faint  dawn  of  a  better  day  in  their  thoughtful- 
ness,  even  though  it  be  sullen  and  sad  1 

It  is  said  that  the  Romish  religion  is  nowhere  less 
respected  than  at  Rome ;  that  the  women  are  still 
under  its  dominion,  but  that  among  the  men  there 
is  a  pervading  infidelity  and,  of  course,  a  discon- 
tent with  the  government,  that  will  urge  them  to 
join  in  any  hopeful  movement  against  it.  How  can 
it  be  otherwise  when  the  government,  instead  of  af- 
fording them  aid  and  protection,  only  puts  forth  its 


ROME.  173 

power  and  ingenuity  to  tax  and  harass  them? 
"4lome,"  says  M.  Sismondi,  "  pretending  to  have 
eternity  at  its  disposal,  takes  little  care  of  the  future 
of  this  world." 

The  streets  are  thronged  with  idle  men.  A  por- 
tion of  them  are  the  labourers  on  the  campagna 
who,  to  avoid  the  mal-aria,  come  into  the  city  when- 
ever unemployed ;  and  as  festas,  including  Sundays, 
occur  twice  or  thrice  a  w^eek,  this  is  nearly  half  the 
time.  On  my  remarking  this  concourse  of  idlers  to 
Mr.  G.,  he  said,  "  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that 
many  who  appear  mere  idlers  3.Ye  facchini  (porters) 
who  are  waiting  for  employment."  I  can  only  say 
I  always  see  them  "  waiting,'^  never  employed ;  and 
in  Rome,  where  there  is  no  commerce  and  no  manu- 
factures, what  employment  can  there  be  for  this  herd 
of  facchini  ?  Not  absolutely  no  manufactures,  for 
there  are  many  thousand  sculptors,  w^orkers  in  mo- 
saic, makers  of  conchiliglias,  and  other  like  jim~ 
crackeries  for  milords  Anglais;  but  remember,  these 
are  all  articles  of  superfluity  for  which  there  is 
no  regular  and  certain  demand.  The  interchange 
of  productions  between  the  different  states  of  Italy 
is  discouraged  and  shackled  in  every  way  by  their 
rulers,  so  that  the  beautiful  Roman  mosaic  has  no 
market  at  Florence,  nor  the  pietra-dura,  the  manu- 
facture par  excellence  of  Florence,  at  Rome. 

There  is  no  comfort  in  buying  anything  here ;  no 
article  has  a  fixed  value  or  price.  The  seller  asks 
the  highest  price  he  has  any  hope  of  obtaining  from 
ignorance  and  credulity,  and  the  buyer  "  beats  down" 

P2 


174  ROME. 

till  his  time  or  his  patience  is  exhausted.  I  have 
been  taken  in  more  than  once  by  supposing  that 
'^ fixed  prices^'  in  great  letters  announced,  as  it  would 
with  us,  the  inflexible  rule  of  the  dealer.  On  one 
occasion  I  was  looking  at  an  article,  when  K.  whisper- 
ed to  me  that  the  price  was  extravagant — I  should 
offer  less.  I  pointed  to  the  "  fixed  prices,"  and 
shook  my  head,  and,  after  paying  the  price  demand- 
ed, I  had  the  mortification,  before  leaving  the  shop, 
to  see  another  purchaser  come  in  and,  after  a  httle 
trafficking,  buy  the  article  at  half  the  price  I  had 
given.  Frequently,  after  solemn  asseverations  that 
the  thing  has  been  offered  to  us  at  its  ultimate  price, 
we  w^ere  followed  out  of  the  shop  and  on  to  the 
pavement  with  proffers  of  reduction,  and  finally  it 
has  been  sent  home  to  us  at  our  own  price.  And  to 
this  degree  of  debasement  is  a  people  brought  who 
are  born  in  one  of  the  richest  climates  of  the  world, 
and  loaded  with  God's  good  gifts  ! 

But  do  not  imagine,  my  dear  C,  that  this  debase- 
ment is  universal.  It  obtrudes  itself  upon  the  notice 
of  strangers  because  those  who  traffic  with  them 
are  most  exposed  to  temptation. 

An  American  gentleman  who  has  resided  in  Italy 
for  many  years  told  W.  that,  leaving  out  of  the  ac- 
count conjugal  fidelity,  he  had  never  found  in  any 
part  of  the  world  better  faith  or  more  virtue  than  in 
Italy,.  This  testimony  does  not  prove  all  it  asserts, 
but  certainly  it  intimates  that  there  is  some  good 
faith  and  much  virtue.  Our  consul  is  married  to  an 
ItaUan  woman,  an  exceedingly  pretty  and  attractive 


ROME.  175 

person,  who,  in  our  exacting  New-England,  might  be 
held  up  as  a  pattern- wife. 

Signor  N.,  from  whom  we  hire  our  rooms,  occu- 
pies an  apartment  next  to  us,  and  we  are  on  the 
friendliest  terms.  We  have  found  him  honoura- 
ble and  liberal  in  his  dealings,  and  most  kind  in 
his  attentions.  His  wife  is  a  highly- accomplished 
artist,  one  of  a  large  family,  all  qualified  by  the  ed- 
ucation which  a  widowed  mother,  by  dint  of  energy 
and  struggling,  obtained  for  them,  to  secure  an  in- 
dependent existence.  They  now  cherish  that  moth- 
er with  filial  devotion.  And,  to  come  down  to  the 
humblest  life,  our  coachman,  who  spends  all  the 
daylight  of  every  day  in  our  service,  is  invariably 
faithful  and  patient,  and  moderate  in  his  demands. 
Now,  my  dear  C,  if  the  only  Romans  we  chance  to 
know  would  be  valuable  members  of  society  any- 
where, is  it  not  a  hint  to  us  to  take  the  denuncia- 
tions of  travellers  with  some  allowance,  and,  at  any 
rate,  that  we  may  safely  enlarge  our  charities  ?  A 
little  more  on  this  head,  and  I  have  done.  I  will  re- 
peat to  you,  without  the  slightest  deviation,  a  story  I 
have  just  heard  from  an  English  gentleman.  A  friend 
of  his,  an  artist,  who  was  residing  in  Rome  with  his 
wife,  lost  one  or  two  children.  In  their  first  an- 
guish they  were  advised  by  their  Italian  nurse  to 
change  the  scene ;  and  with  that  instinct  of  nature 
which  always  turns  to  the  birthplace  as  the  universal 
panacea,  she  begged  them  to  go  to  her  native  vil- 
lage, fifty  miles  from  Rome.  They  had  scarcely 
reached  there  when  the  cholera  broke  out,  and  they 


176  ROME. 

were  put  in  quarantine.  They  had  expected  to  re- 
main but  a  few  days,  and  had  httle  money  with 
them,  and  there  was  no  possibihty  of  communicating 
with  their  friends.  Rather  a  dilemma  to  be  thrown 
in  among  the  priests  and  Levites  of  this  world! 
There  was  no  borrowing;  for,  save  some  few  dol- 
lars laid  up  in  the  village  for  the  payment  of  taxes, 
it  was  as  moneyless  as  one  of  our  Western  settle- 
ments. They  lived  by  barter.  The  English  stran- 
gers were  obliged  to  remain  four  months.  All  their 
wants  were  supplied.  The  people  trusted  them  in- 
definitely. Quantities  of  grain  were  brought  to 
them,  which  they  exchanged  for  smaller  commodi- 
ties. They  made  acquaintance  with  a  gentleman  in 
the  neighbourhood  who  lived  a  secluded  but  luxu- 
rious life  upon  two  hundred  dollars  a  year !  He  had 
a  good  library,  was  highly  cultivated,  particularly 
well  informed  in  regard  to  everything  in  England, 
and,  furthermore,  one  of  the  excellent  of  the  earth. 
All  this,  dear  C,  among  the  dishonest,  lying,  mur- 
dering, treacherous  Italians!  There  is  some  super- 
fluous reviling  in  this  world  ! 


Is  it  a  fancy  of  mine,  think  you,  dear  C,  or  is  it 
remarkable  that  most  of  the  best  preserved  monu- 
ments here  are  associated  with  good  names  that 
shine  out  among  the  great  ones  of  old  Rome  ?  The 
Colosseum  bears  the  family  name  of  Vespasian,  and 
is  the  record  of  the  magnificence  and  triumphs  of 
his  son.     The  Arch  of  Titus,  the  conqueror  of  the 


ROME.  177 

Jews — the  man  who,  when  master  of  the  world,  sigh- 
ed over  every  day  unmarked  with  a  good  deed  as 
lost — still  spans,  almost  entire,  the  Sacra  J^my 
Drusus,  Constantine,  and  Septimius  Severus,  whose 
arches  are  remaining,  are,  if  not  at  the  extreme  right, 
somewhere  about  the  juste  milieu  of  ancient  names ; 
and  the  lofty  column  of  Trajan,  "  best  of  the  good," 
still  bears  the  record  of  his  deeds.  The  unimpair- 
ed column  of  Antoninus  Pius  is  the  memorial  of  a 
man  whose  name  designated  his  eminent  goodness. 
Almost  every  day  we  drive  under  the  still  perfect 
arch  of  the  gentle  Nerva's  Forum,  while  the  palaces 
of  the  Caesars,  extended  and  embellished  by  such 
beastly  wretches  as  Nero,  Caligula,  and  Domitian, 
are  a  shapeless  mass  of  ruins ! 


If  I  had  your  powers  of  description  in  this  way, 
dear  C,  or  Cruikshanks'  of  illustration,  I  would 
give  you  a  letter  worth  having  on  the  beggars 
of  Rome.  The  Italian  has  sentiment  in  his  nature, 
and  the  beggar  expresses  it  in  the  form  of  his  pe- 
tition. His  "  Non  m'  abbandonate,"  and  "  Cari- 
ta,  signora,  per  I'amor  di  questa  imagine  !"*  kindle 
your  imagination  if  not  your  heart.  How  I  should 
like  to  show  you  the  fellow  who  sits,  like  a  monarch 
on  his  throne,  on  the  stairs  of  the  Piazza  di  Spag7ia, 
and  whose  smile,  disclosing  teeth  strong  enough  to 

*  "  Do  not  abandon  me !"  and  "  Charity,  lady,  for  the  love  of  this 
image !"  This  last  supplication  is  made  near  a  shrine  of  the  pitiful- 
looking  Virgin,  where  the  beggar  has  what  in  our  trafficking  country 
would  be  called  "  a  good  stand  for  business." 


178  ROME. 

grind  all  the  grist  in  Rome,  and  his  hearty  saluta- 
tion, "  Buon  giorno,  signor,"  are  well  worth  the  bai- 
oc'  he  asks  much  more  as  a  right  than  a  favour.  He 
is  an  old  receiver  of  customs,  and  is  well  known  to 
have  a  full  treasury.  "  How  dare  you  beg  of  me," 
asked  Mr.  G.,  "  when  you  are  already  so  rich  V 
"  Ah,  signor,  I  have  my  donkey  to  feed."  "  You 
are  well  able  to  feed  your  donkey."  "  But  I  have 
my  nine  children,  signor."  There  is  no  answer  to 
be  made  to  a  fellow  who  confesses  to  such  luxury ! 
Then  there  is  the  poor  moiety  of  a  man  whose  trunk 
(torso  !),  trussed  on  to  a  circular  bit  of  wood  slightly 
concave,  comes  daily  down  our  street  of  St.  Vitale 
at  a  jocund  pace ;  and  the  two  old  crones  at  Santa 
Maria  Maggio7'e  who  hobble  towards  you  with  a 
sort  of.  pas  de  deux,  and  seem  as  well  content  that 
one  should  get  your  baioc'  as  the  other,  "  equal  to 
either  fortune."  They  are  probably  partners  in  the 
trade.  And  there  is  the  handsome  youth  by  the 
French  Academy,  who  has  been  dying  with  a 
"  sagne  di  bocca"  (spitting  of  blood)  for  the  last 
fifteen  years  without  any  apparent  diminution  of 
the  vital  current !  And  the  little  troop  of  mountain- 
peasants,  whose  hunting-ground  is  somewhere  about 
the  American  consul's,  with  their  bewitching  smiles, 
sweet  voices,  and  most  winning  ways;  a  genuine 
lover  of  happy  young  faces  ought  to  pay  them  for  a 
sight  of  theirs.     Even  beggary  is  picturesque  here. 


ROME.  179 

We  went  this  morning  to  the  Church  of  St.  Agos- 
tino  to  see  Raphael's  Isaiah,  one  of  his  most  famous 
frescoes ;  the  church  was  so  dark  we  could  not  per- 
ceive its  excellence.  But  we  did  see  what  to  you, 
a  student  of  human  nature,  would  be  far  more  inter- 
esting. This  church  has  a  statue  of  the  Madonna 
and  child  which  has  peculiar  virtue.  Some  poor 
girl  having,  in  an  ecstasy  of  devotion,  seen  the  holy 
mother  open  and  shut  her  eyes  upon  her,  miracles 
have  ever  since  been  wrought  for  the  faithful  who 
kneel  before  this  image.  I  am  not  sure  whether  it 
be  of  wood  or  stone ;  but  whichever  it  be,  the  foot 
is  so  worn  away  with  kissing  that  it  has  been  shod- 
den  with  silver.  The  altar  on  which  it  is  placed 
was  (at  midday)  brilliantly  lighted  with  candles,  and 
a  semicircle  of  lamps  hung  before  it.  The  mother 
is  sitting ;  the  child  stands  on  her  knee  on  one  foot 
in  a  pert  attitude.  Both  images  wear  glittering 
crowns.  The  mother's  throat  is  covered  with  strings 
of  pearls.  She  has  a  complete  breastplate  of  jewels; 
her  arms  are  laden  with  bracelets,  and  her  fingers 
with  rings ;  and,  to  make  her  look  completely  like 
the  queen  of  strolling  players,  her  hand  is  filled 
with  artificial  flowers.  Kneeling  before  this  image 
in  earnest  devotion  (I  saw  many  tears,  but  not  a 
wandering  eye)  were  a  multitude  of  men  and  wom- 
en, for  the  most  part  ragged  and  filthy  beyond  de- 
scription, all  of  whom,  as  they  came  in  or  went  out, 
kissed  the  silver-shod  toe — some  again  and  again 
fondly,  as  a  mother  kisses  her  child ! 


180  ROME. 

But  the  most  extraordinary  thing  of  all  is  the 
garniture  of  a  pillar  on  the  Virgin's  right.  It  is 
literally  covered  with  every  species  of  small  weap- 
on :  daggers,  pistols,  and  knives,  &c.  These  have 
been  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Mother  by  two  classes  of 
persons :  by  those  w^ho  have  been  rescued  from  the 
murderer,  and  by  the  murderer  who  has  escaped  the 
penalty  of  his  crime.  The  sanctuary  privilege  is 
still  in  force  at  Rome.  A  gen  d'armes  dare  not 
follow  an  offender  into  a  churchy  he  may  remain 
there  till  he  is  driven  by  starvation  to  surrender,  but 
no  one  is  permitted  to  supply  his  necessities.  The 
police  of  Rome  is  wretched.  The  laws  are  ill  ad- 
ministered. Atrocious  offences  escape  justice,  and 
small  ones,  if  they  be  against  the  Church,  are  rigidly 
punished.  I  believe  reports  of  crime  here  are  much 
exaggerated.  We  have  been  repeatedly  told  that 
our  street,  which  is  retired  and  has  few  habitations, 
is  dangerous  after  nightfall;  but  our  friends  come 
and  go  every  evening  without  molestation,  and  W. 
seldom  leaves  us  before  eleven.  The  truth  is,  the 
couriers,  who  daily  meet  and  gossip  on  the  Piazza 
di  Spagna,  choose  to  give  a  bad  name  to  all  lodgings 
remote  from  that  neighbourhood ;  and  they  amuse 
their  idle  hours  with  weaving  little  tragic  romances, 
taking  care  to  make  them  "  deep" — like  a  certain 
young  friend  of  ours,  who,  in  her  maiden  tragedy, 
burned  all  her  dramatis  personse  alive  on  the  stage. 

Mr.  G.  and  W.  had  an  animated  discussion  here 
this  evening,  W.  insisting  that  it  is  the  common  tes- 
timony of  mankind  that  the  Romans  are  addicted  to 


ROME.  181 

assassination,  and  Mr.  G.  maintaining  that  they  do 
not  strike  often,  and  never  but  with  good  cause; 
that  there  being  no  public  justice  to  right  them,  they 
are  compelled,  like  savages,  to  take  the  matter  into 
their  own  hands.  He  said  that,  notwithstanding  all 
the  reports  about  robberies,  during  a  twelve  years' 
acquaintance  with  Rome  he  had  known  but  one! 
and  that,  when  the  Romans  rob,  they  do  not  stab ; 
they  have  no  cold-blooded  cruelty. 

Love,  w^hich  runs  into  disease  only  among  the 
higher  classes  in  other  countries,  plays  its  daily  tra- 
gedies here  among  the  humblest.  It  is  the  natural 
offspring  of  idleness.  With  these  hot-blooded,  im- 
petuous Italians  jealousy  is  almost  sure  to  spring  up 
with  it ;  it  is,  par  excellence,  the  passion  of  social  life 
in  Italy.  There  was  a  beautiful  young  woman  hired 
by  a  foreign  artist  to  sit  for  him ;  this  is  one  of  the 
most  productive  of  the  passive  industries  of  Rome. 
Her  husband  forbade  her  going  to  the  painter's ;  she 
replied  that  he  did  nothing  for  her,  and  she  must 
earn  what  she  could.  Yesterday  he  followed  her  to 
the  artist's  studio,  and  asked  to  see  the  picture  of  his 
wife.  The  artist  readily  admitted  him,  w^hereupon 
he  plunged  a  knife  into  his  wife's  bosom ;  she  fled, 
and  he  slabbed  her  a  second  time.  To-day  she  died. 
Public  opinion  is  in  the  husband's  favour,  and  it  is 
said  he  will  only  pay  the  penalty  of  a  few  days'  im- 
prisonment. 

But  what  morals  can  be  expected  of  a  people 
who  have  the  w^orst  examples  of  bad  faith  from 
those  who  should  be  their  models  as  well  as  protec- 

VoL.  II.— Q 


182  ROME. 

tors.  K — n  told  me  a  story  of  some  brigands  who 
had  become  formidable  on  the  road  between  here 
and  Naples  some  years  since.  As  the  ceremonies 
of  the  holy-week  approached  the  outlaws  felt  an 
irresistible  desire  to  "walk  the  Seven  Basilicee;" 
which  means,  I  take  it,  confessing  and  doing  penance 
in  these  supremely  holy  sanctuaries,  an  observance 
very  dear  to  all  good  Catholics.*  Their  chief  en- 
tered into  a  treaty  with  the  pope  for  permission  to 
come  and  go  unmolested,  and  the  holy  father,  loath 
to  repress  so  pious  a  wish,  granted  it.  Their  rendez- 
vous in  Rome  was  known,  and  the  pope  sent  his  emis- 
saries to  persuade  them  to  relinquish  their  unholy 
trade.  The  conference  was  proceeding  amicably 
"when  the  pope's  lambs  turned  into  wolves,  alias  gens 
d'armes,  and  the  betrayed  brigands  were  seized  and 
bound.  "  Ah,  for  shame !"  I  exclaimed,  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  story ;  "  this  is  as  bad  as  our  treatment  of 
the  Indians."  "  And  ours  of  the  East  Indians !"  re- 
sponded K — n ;  "  all  great  nations  have  their  pecca- 
dilloes !"  When  will  nations  hold  themselves  bound 
by  the  strict  rule  that  governs  an  upright  individual  ? 
When  they  are  in  deed  as  well  as  in  name  Christian 
nations — and  not  till  then. 

*  "  Boniface  in  1300,  the  year  of  the  jubilee,  proclaimed  '  une  indul- 
gence pleniere'  for  such  as,  having  confessed,  sliould  visit  for  fifteen 
consecutive  days  the  churches  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.  Villani 
reports  that  during  the  year  there  were  200,000  strangers  at  Rome." 
—iiinmondi.  His  holiness,  Boniface,  understood  the  art  of  indirect 
taxation. 


ROME.  183 

The  tombs  are  among  the  most  interesting  monu- 
ments about  Rome.  They  annihilate  time,  and  level 
all  national  and  individual  differences  by  speaking 
to  you  of  ties  that  are  universal,  and  of  experience 
common  to  all.  Here,  where  parents  and  children 
have  wept,  you  feel  the  strain  of  a  common  human- 
ity ;  and  the  only  difference  between  you  and  those 
w^ho  have  lived  and  suffered  ages  before  you  is,  that 
wherein  you  are  most  blessed  they  w^ere  most 
wretched.  The  angel  of  life  did  not  keep  his 
watch  over  the  burial-places  of  their  dead.  If,  per- 
chance, a  ray  of  hope  penetrated  the  clouds  and 
darkness  that  wrapped  the  tomb,  it  came  from  their 
own  natures,  and  was  wavering  and  uncertain, 
most  unlike  that  steadfast  and  inextinguishable  light 
which  shines  in  upon  the  Christian's  soul.  And 
this,  I  take  it,  was  in  part  the  reason  why  the  an- 
cients built  their  splendid  mausoleums,  such  as  the 
tomb  of  Adrian  and  that  of  Ceciha  Metella,  and 
those  on  the  Appian  Way,  which,  even  in  ruin,  ap- 
pear like  the  vestiges  of  fortresses  and  palaces.  The 
fast  was  all  to  them, — pride  and  love  sought  to  per- 
petuate the  memorial  of  an  ended  existence.  Mem- 
ory fondly  lingered  where  hope  had  not  yet  come. 
We  have  been  to  the  tomb  of  the  Scipios.  It  is  not 
more  than  fifty  years  since  the  tomb  of  the  Scipios 
was  opened,  and  now  an  exact  copy  of  its  most 
beautiful  sarcophagus  embellishes  a  cemetery  in  our 
New  World.*     Above  the  entrance  to  a  vineyard  is 

*  That  to  Spurzheim  at  Mount  Auburn. 


184  ROME. 

the  inscription,  "  Sepolcro  degli  Scipioni.^^  The 
barred  door  was  opened  to  us  by  a  woman,  who, 
provided  with  wax  tapers,  conducted  us  down  a 
flight  of  steps  and  into  the  interior  of  the  vault  by 
a  narrow  winding  way,  through  the  burial-place 
of  one  of  the  most  illustrious  families  of  Rome,  and 
where  we  were  treading  they  came  in  sad  proces- 
sion to  lay  their  dead.  We  saw  on  the  walls  of 
these  corridors  the  names,  and  exact  copies  of  the  ori- 
ginal inscriptions,  which  have  been  carried  off  to  the 
Vatican.  The  niches  where  the  sarcophagi,  busts, 
and  other  funereal  ornaments  were  placed  are  emp- 
ty.    Some  of  these  we  have  seen  in  the  Vatican. 

We  have  been  to  the  Columbarium,  which  con- 
tains the  remains  of  the  freedmen  of  Augustus. 
They  are  called  Columbarium  from  the  resemblance 
of  the  small  compartments  where  the  urns  were 
placed  to  pigeon-holes.  We  knocked,  as  all  an- 
tiquity-huniers  must  do  at  Rome,  whether  they 
are  in  quest  of  a  palace  or  a  tomb,  a  bath  or  a  tem- 
ple, at  a  huge,  strong,  wooden  gate  resembhng  an 
immense  barn-door,  and  were  admitted  into  a  vine- 
yard, where  we  were  at  once  in  the  midst  of  sacred 
relics.  Broken,  antique,  sepulchral  inscriptions  are 
inserted  in  the  wall,  some  made  in  vanity  no  doubt, 
and  some  in  love ;  I  noticed  one  of  a  father  Jilice 
dulcissimcB.  Fragments  of  columns,  bits  of  bas- 
reliefs,  and  terra-cotta  urns  were  strewn  over  the 
ground.  We  descended  a  dozen  steps  into  the  Co- 
lumbarium, a  small  apartment  with  a  vaulted  ceil- 
ing delicately  painted  in  fresco.     The  bones,  resolved 


ROME.  185 

by  fire  to  small  fragments  and  ashes,  are  in  terra-cotta 
vessels  with  covers,  more  like  our  garden-pots  than 
like  urns.  These  are  placed  in  the  pigeon-holes. 
Thus  reduced,  men  and  women  may  be  packed  away 
in  a  very  small  compass ;  8000  are  said  to  have  been 
bestowed  here.  There  are  some  small  marble  sar- 
cophagi embellished  with  bas-reliefs.  Octavia's 
tomb  is  unknown;  and  here  is  an  inscription  on  her 
dressing-maid,  and  another  on  her  w^orker  in  silver. 
But  one  of  the  most  interesting  sepulchral  monu- 
ments that  I  have  seen  is  that  of  some  honest  ba- 
kers, close  to  the  walls  of  R&me.  A  very  noble 
arch  with  Ionic  pillars  has  lately  been  uncovered 
there.  When  Totila,  with  his  barbarians,  had  pos- 
session of  the  city,  they  pulled  down  the  walls.  Bel- 
isarius,  who  was  lying  at  Ostia,  returned  as  soon  as  To- 
tila retired,  and,  hastily  reconstructing  the  wall,  made 
use  of  whatever  would  help  to  shorten  his  labour. 
In  this  way  the  tomb  of  Caius  Cestus  came  to  make 
a  part  of  the  wall,  and  thus  this  superb  arch,  and  the 
baker's  tomb  just  in  its  shadow,  were  covered  up ; 
the  tomb  is  of  marble,  and  in  the  sides  of  the  walls 
are  openings  to  represent  ovens.  The  frieze  is 
sculptured  with  bas-reliefs  representing  the  baker's 
art,  kneading,  moulding,  weighing  the  loaves,  and 
piling  them  in  baskets ;  bread  and  baskets  are  of  the 
identical  form  used  by  the  Roman  bakers  of  the 
present  day.  In  a  house  hard  by,  whither  they  have 
been  removed  from  the  tomb,  are  the  statues  of  the 
baker  and  his  wife,  worthy  elderly  people,  lying  side 
by  side  on  a  stone  tablet.     After  going  about  day 

Q2 


186  ROME. 

after  day  to  see  the  ruins  of  temples  to  imaginary 
divinities,  triumphal  arches,  palaces,  circuses,  and 
amphitheatres,  memorials  of  the  pride  and  luxury  of 
individuals  and  the  misery  of  "  the  million,"  it  was 
refreshing,  dear  C,  to  find  in  this  baker's  pretty 
tomb  a  proof  that  the  humbler  virtues  and  domestic 
arts  were  sometimes  honoured. 


My  Dear  C, 

Sunday. — We  went  to  the  Church  of  St.  Cecilia 
to-day  to  see  the  p«)fession  of  a  nun.  Signora  N. 
accompanied  us,  and  expressed  as  sound  opinions  on 
conventual  life  as  if,  instead  of  a  good  Catholic 
living  under  the  dropping  of  monasteries,  she  had 
been  bred  in  Boston.  A  carpet  was  spread  in  the 
nave,  with  a  double  row  of  chairs  set  around  it,  and  the 
enclosure  was  guarded  by  a  small  detachment  from 
the  pope's  Swiss  guards.  By  Signor  N.'s  interest, 
we  obtained  a  place  on  these  extra-exclusive  seats. 
We  waited  two  mortal  hours.  The  cardinal  who 
was  to  come  here  to  bury  the  living,  was  engaged  in 
burying  the  dead.     The  mother,  with  the  nurse  and 

young  bride  of  heaven,  sat  near  us,  and ,  who,  if 

she  had  before  appeared  to  me  as  a  mere  fashiona- 
ble inanity  floating  over  the  surface  of  life,  now 
made  me  feel  that  there  was  a  certain  dignity  in  an 
existence  that  comprehended  the  affections  of  a  wife 
and  mother. 

The  circle  of  chairs  was  filled,  and  a  large  au- 
dience, chiefly  English,  gathered  round;  finally  in 


ROME.  187 

came  the  cardinal  and  the  officiating  priests,  who 
robed  him  in  embroidered  satin  and  point  lace, 
which  they  took  from  a  trunk  previously  brought. 
When  he  was  completely  equipped,  with  his  jewelled 
mitre  on  his  head,  a  chant  announced  the  bride's 
approach ;  and  she  entered  the  church  with  a  friend 
at  her  side  and  a  train  attendant.  She  appeared 
about  nineteen,  and  with  that  peculiar  expression  of 
repressed  exultation  that  you  may  have  seen  on  a 
silly  >cung  girl  whose  head  was  exaltee  with  the 
eclat  of  a  wedding.  She  was  dressed  in  a  load  of 
finery,  to  make  more  striking  her  renunciation  of 
the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world.  Her  head  was 
tricked  off  with  all-coloured  false  jewels,  feathers, 
gold  chains,  and  artificial  flowers.  Her  profuse 
black  hair,  her  only  personal  wealth,  hung  in  ring- 
lets over  her  face,  neck,  and  shoulders,  and  falling 
over  the  back  of  her  head  she  had  a  gauze  veil  em- 
broidered with  silver.  The  folds  of  her  embroider- 
ed satin  gown  were  sustained  by  an  ultra  fashiona- 
ble hump  {toiirnure^  Y)ar  courtoisie),'and  her  train 
was  held  up  by  two  children  three  or  four  years  old, 
bedizzened  in  blue  and  pink  satin,  spangles,  silver 
fringe,  and  tawdry  artificial  flowers,  who,  as  I  infer- 
red from  feather  wings  sewed  to  their  backs,  person- 
ated angels ! 

The  poor  thing  knelt  before  the  cardinal  and  made 
her  vow  of  renunciation.  She  then  sat  as  inex- 
pressive as  a  wax  figure,  while  he  addressed  to  her 
a  sing-song  exhortation,  in  which  he  held  up  before 
her  a  long  line  of  female  saints  who  had  endured 


188  ROME. 

tinendurable  inflictions  and  mortitications.  When 
this  precious  homily,  recited  and  received  without  a 
sign  of  emotion,  was  over,  she  was  led  out  by  the 
cardinal,  and  we  again  saw  her,  but  very  imperfect- 
ly, through  a  grated  door  in  a  side  chapel ;  there 
she  was  disrobed,  her  hair  cut  off,  and,  in  the  nun's 
habit  and  veil,  she  lay  under  a  pall  while  the  ser- 
vice for  the  dead  was  chanted  over  her.  It  is  not 
long  since  this  whole  ceremony  was  performed  in 
the  nave  of  the  church ;  and  the  present  decent  in- 
novation of  withdrawing  behind  the  scenes  is  a  faint 
sign  that  there  is  life  and  progress  even  here.  It 
was,  after  all,  though  I  have  spoken  of  it  flippantly, 
a  touching  sight  to  see  a  young  creature  self-immo- 
lated through  the  force  of  most  unnatural  circum- 
stances; but  I  do  not  wonder  that  in  a  country 
where  the  alternative  is,  for  the  most  part,  between 
vice  and  vacuity,  a  woman  should  choose  to  give  a 
religious  colour  to  the  latter. 

Female  school-education  here  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  nuns.  You  may  imagine  how  well  fitted  to  pre- 
pare girls  to  be  wives  and  mothers,  and  effective 
members  of  society,  these  poor  wretches  must  be, 
who  know  the  world  only  through  their  sighs  and 
unavailing  regrets. 


The  bells  are  ringing,  and  so  they  are  in  Rome  at 
every  hour  of  the  twenty-four.  There  are  certain 
convent-bells  that  ring  every  fifteen  minutes,  and 
others  that  ring  through  the  hour.     When  I  am 


ROME.  189 

suddenly  awaked  in  the  night  by  the  ringing  of  the 
bells,  with  the  deep-sunken  impressions  of  years, 
I  fancy  myself  in  my  room  in  W.  street,  and  an 
Albany  steamer  announcing  its  arrival.  What  a 
deadly  home-sickness  comes  over  me  as  I  awake  to 
the  reality,  and  contrast  the  indications  of  the  bells 
of  the  two  countries,  pretty  fairly  illustrative  of  their 
different  condition.  The  steamer's  bell  announces 
the  arrival  of  the  politician,  busy  with  the  project  of 
making  a  new  governor  and  dislodging  an  old  one, 
or  framino-  new  laws  and  abolishino:  the  old  ;  of 
the  philanthropist,  who  has  come  to  examine  prisons, 
establish  a  peace  society,  disseminate  Bibles,  or  help 
on  the  extermination  of  slavery ;  of  an  author,  about 
to  publish  some  new  theory  in  religion,  or  politics,  or 
social  life,  which  is  to  reform  the  morals  and  mend 
the  manners  of  mankind ;  of  the  inventor  of  a  new 
machine  which  is  to  improve  the  fortunes  of  the  hu- 
man race  and  make  his  own  ;  of  a  host  of  merchants 
to  buy  and  to  sell.  While  the  bells  are  ringing 
they  are  all  on  shore;  no  passports,  no  Dogana! 
And  what  say  the  midnight  bells  of  Rome  1  Why, 
that  the  poor  monks  and  nuns  must  out  of  their  beds 
and  troop  to  prayers !  In  the  severer  orders  the 
summons  is  repeated  three  and  four  times  during  the 
night — this,  dear  C.,is  the  productive  labour  of  Rome ! 


I  ASKED  an  Italian  gentleman  who  was  mending 
the  fire  at  Miss  M.'s,  in  the  hopeless  endeavour  to 
send  the  smoke  up  the  chimney,  if  the  chimneys  in 


190  ROME. 

Rome  were  not  apt  to  smoke.  "They  all  smoke," 
he  replied ;  "  and  how  can  it  be  otherwise  ?  the  houses 
have  been  built  hundreds  of  years,  and  the  chimneys 
recently  put  in."  They  are  an  English  luxury,  and 
seem  contrived,  as  an  English  writer  says,  rather 
"  to  ventilate  than  to  warm."  The  Italians  consider 
fires  injurious  to  health.*  There  is  ice  in  the  street 
now,  and  a  blazing  fire  of  half  a  dozen  good-sized 
sticks  is  essential  to  our  comfort,  while  our  delicate 
little  landlady  is  warmed  with  a  few  coals  in  an 
earthen  pot  (called  a  marito)  with  an  upright  han- 
dle, a  most  inconvenient  affair.  The  immense  mar- 
ble-floored apartments  of  the  palaces  are  warmed 
only  by  a  brasier  with  a  few  coals.  Once  I  have 
seen,  at  some  villa,  a  blazing  fire ;  at  the  Borghese, 
probably,  for  Prince  Borghese  is  married  to  an  Eng- 
lishwoman. The  shrivelled,  shivering  old  women 
sitting  out  of  doors  with  a  marito  at  their  feet  are 
forlorn  objects. 

You  w^ould  be  surprised  at  the  articles  of  food  ex- 
posed for  sale  here,  such  as  cock's  combs,  the  claws 
of  poultry,  blood,  and  the  entrails  of  animals.  I 
smile  when  I  recall  the  time  when  our  village  butch- 
er refused  to  make  a  charge  for  a  "  calf's  head  and 
feet,"  and  that  even  now  it  is  considered  a  bold  in- 
novation to  sell  liver.  Meat  is  sold  here  in  bits  as 
small  as  we  distribute  about  the  table ;  indeed,  the 
poorer  classes  scarce   taste  meat  at   all.     Polenta 

*  Our  medical  gentleman  at  Naples  was  so  fearful  of  the  feverish 
influence  of  the  fire,  that  when  he  passed  through  the  drawing-room 
to  his  patient's  apartment  he  crept  round  by  the  wall. 


ROME.  191 

(hasty-pudding)  is  here,  as  in  other  parts  of  Italy, 
a  prime  article  of  food.*  The  bread  they  eat  is  of 
a  good  quality,  and  often  made  quite  luxurious  by  a 
spreading  of  lard.  They  have  delicate  preparations 
of  milk,  resembling  our  curds,  but  much  nicer,  called 
ricotta  and  giuncata.  These  are  thought  to  be  inim- 
itably prepared  by  the  peasants  of  the  neighbouring 
mountains ;  we  thought  them  so  the  other  day  when 
they  came  to  us  from  a  kind  friend  in  pretty  baskets 
covered  with  fresh  leaves. 

Vegetables  are  very  cheap,  and  the  very  poor  al- 
most live  on  the  coarser  kinds.  I  have  seen  old 
women  in  the  streets  devouring  the  stumps  of  cab- 
bages. Soup  is  their  luxury ;  soup  by  courtesy,  but 
really  the  thinnest  of  broths.  Wine  holds  the  place 
to  them  that  tea  does  to  our  working  people.  Our 
servant  was  looking  very  surly,  and  on  inquiry  we 
learned  it  was  because  we  had  not  provided  wine 
for  her  breakfast !  Chestnuts  are  bread  here ;  they 
are  cheap,  abundant,  and  very  delicious,  much  lar- 
ger than  ours,  sweet  and  marrowy,  and  approaching 
the  lusciousness  of  fruit.  Their  sweet  odours  as 
they  are  roasting  perfume  the  streets  which  sadly 
need  perfuming. 

You  wdll  hardly  be  able  to  estimate  the  poverty 
of  the  Roman  people  by  the  indications  of  the  food 
on  which  they  live,  without  knowing  the  extreme 
cheapness  of  good  provisions.  W.  tells  me  that  he 
can  get  a  dinner  at  a  restaurateur's  for  twenty-five 

*  We  ordered  it  now  and  then  for  a  reminiscence  of  home,  but  it 
was  made  disagreeable  to  our  taste  by  the  admixture  of  oil. 


192  ROME. 

cents,  consisting  of  soup,  three  or  four  kinds  of  meat, 
a  variety  of  vegetable^,  a  pudding,  and  a  dessert  of 
fruits  and  nuts. 


I  WISH  our  grumbling  housewives  who  fancy  there 
is  no  plague  with  servants  but  "it  lights  on  their 
shoulders,"  could  hear  the  statements  of  grievances 
I  hear  here,  and  such  as  I  often  heard  in  England. 
The  men-servants  here  are  more  capable  than  the 
women,  but  they  are  utterly  unreliable ;  not  having 
the  "  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes,"  there  is  no  de- 
pendance  to  be  placed  either  on  their  word  or  their 
honesty.  The  women  are  uninstructed,  and  misera- 
ble gossips  and  dawdlers;  but  being  still  under  the 
dominion  of  their  religion,  you  have  a  hold  on  their 
consciences.  Francois  avers  there  is  not  a  w^oman 
in  Italy  who  knows  how  to  cook ;  but  Francois  holds 
to  the  old-school  opinion  of  women's  capacities. 
My  hearsay  information  is  of  little  worth,  but  I  have 
none  other  to  give.  We  have  employed  but  two 
women-servants ;  the  one  faithless  and  efficient,  the 
other  inefficient  and  true — passably  so.  There  is 
nothing  peculiar  to  any  country  in  this  experience. 

The  whole  tendehcy  of  service  here  is  to  corrup- 
tion. Service,  for  the  most  part,  is  paid  by  fees 
which  are  irregular  and  uncertain.  Many  servants 
of  cardinals  and  princes  are  not  paid  by  their  em- 
ployers, but  subsist  on  fees ;  they  are,  in  fact,  birds 
of  prey.  For  example,  a  gentleman  residing  here 
in  an  official  station  told  me  that  twice  every  year, 


ROME.  193 

on  the  first  of  January  and  on  the  first  of  July,  the 
servants  of  the  princes  and  cardinals  whom  he  visits 
come  to  demand  a  fee  from  him,  and  he  must  pay  it. 
The  day  after  his  first  official  interview  with  the 
pope,  a  servant's  bill,  amounting  to  sixteen  dollars, 
was  sent  to  him.  When  the  noted  banker  Torlonia 
gives  a  ball  his  servants  levy  their  tribute — black 
mail — the  next  day  on  the  guests.  To  show  you  in 
what  estimation  this  same  gentleman  Torlonia  is 
held  in  Rome,  it  is  a  common  report  that  his  ser- 
vants give  his  balls  I 


My  dear  C,  you  may  almost  doubt  my  being  in 
Rome,  since  I  have  not  yet  said  one  word  of  the 
Vatican,  where  the  history  and  religion  of  the  Old 
World  are  recorded  by  the  hand  of  art.  The  truth 
is,  that  from  the  moment  of  my  visit  to  Winchester 
Cathedral,  I  have  felt,  as.  I  fancy  those  do  who  go 
to  another  world,  that  the  sensations  resulting  from  a 
new  state  and  new  marxifestations  are  incommunica- 
ble. I  cannot  convey  to  you  what  I  have  enjoyed, 
and  am  enjoying,  from  painting,  sculpture,  and  ar- 
chitecture ;  and  when  I  involuntarily  shudder  at  the 
idea  of  leaving  all  these  magnificent  and  lovely 
forms,  I  doubt  the  wisdom  of  our  New-W^orld  peo- 
ple coming  here  to  acquire  hankerings  which  cannot 
be  appeased  at  home.  I  would  advise  no  American 
to  come  to  Italy  who  has  not  strong  domestic  affec- 
tions and  close  domestic  ties,  or  some  absorbing  and 
worthy  pursuit   at   home.      Without  these   strong 

Vol.  II.— R 


191  ROME. 

bonds  to  his  country  he  may  feel,  when  he  returns 
there,  as  one  does  who  attempts  to  read  a  treatise  on 
pohtical  economy  after  being  lost  in  the  interest  of 
a  captivating  romance. 

You  vvould  fully  comprehend  this  danger  if  you 
had  passed  but  this  day  with  me.  First  we  went  to 
the  Orti  Farnesiana  (the  Farnese  Gardens),  where 
we  were  first  shown  the  remains  of  Augustus'  bath,* 
for  so  a  large  reservoir  of  Tibertine  stone  is  called, 
into  which  flows  a  stream  of  the  *'  acqua  felice,^''  co- 
pious enough  to  drown  half  a  dozen  emperors. 
Then  we  were  led  down  broken  steps  into  the  baths 
of  Livia,  where,  now  buried  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  are  apartments  suited  to  imperial  luxury. 
The  ceiling  (shown  by  wax  tapers)  is  vaulted  and 
painted  with  a  border  of  the  richest  colour  encir- 
cling medallions  of  miniature  animals,  loves,  and 
fauns.  The  statues  have  been  removed  from  the 
niches.  These  are  unquestionable  remains  of  impe- 
rial luxury,  and  our  pleasure  was  not  disturbed  with 
doubts,  as  it  sometimes  is,  when  we  are  told,  before 
a  broken  stack  of  bricks  half  hidden  with  thorns 
and  ivy,  "  this  is  the  palace  of  the  Caesars  !"  When 
we  emerged  into  daylight  our  guide  led  us  up  a 
flight  of  steps,  and,  pointing  to  a  shapeless  mass  of 
bricks,  said,  '•  These  are  the  remains  of  Romulus' 
house  !"  Our  friend,  who  used  to  admire  the  "  mor- 
al effect"  of  General 's  swearing,  would  call 

this  bold  lying  the  **  moral  courage"  of  a  Roman 

*  These  attractive  names  are  given  and  changed  "  ^  discretion^'  by 
the  antiquaries  and  guides  of  Rome. 


ROME.  195 

guide.  But  the  view  from  the  little  platform  where 
we  stood  was  no  fiction.  Before  us  was  an  amphi- 
theatre of  mountains  melting  into  the  atmosphere, 
their  snowy  edges  like  glittering  clouds ;  the  dome 
of  St.  Peter's  enfolded  in  ether;  domes,  towers, 
churches,  ruins  on  every  side ;  beyond  them  the  cam- 
pagna,  a  land-sea^  with  its  soft,  green,  wavy  surface, 
and  the  Mediterranean  in  the  distance  gleaming 
like  steel  in  the  sun.  No  scenery  that  I  have  ever 
seen  is  more  beautiful,  none  can  be  more  expressive, 
than  that  in  and  about  Rome.  From  the  garden 
we  drove  quite  to  the  other  extremity  of  Rome,  and 
mounted  a  hill  to  visit  the  Church  of  St.  Onofrio, 
where  Tasso  was  buried.  It  was  in  the  convent  ad- 
joining this  church  that  he  lodged  when  he  came  to 
Rome  to  receive  the  poet's  crown.  There  is  a  tab- 
let with  an  inscription  on  the  wall  over  the  sacred 
spot  where  his  remains  were  lain.  But  a  more 
touching  memorial  of  him  is  an  oak-tree  in  the  ad- 
joining garden.  It  is  the  largest  oak  in  Rome,  and 
is  called  Tasso's,  from  the  circumstance  of  his  hav- 
ing been  carried  at  his  own  desire  to  sit  under  its 
shadow  the  day  before  he  died.  What  a  scene  for 
a  dying  poet,  the  entire  city  of  Rome  with  its  thrill- 
ing memories  under  his  eye,  and  the  mountains  en- 
closing the  campagna,  that,  if  they  appeared  as  they 
appeared  to-day,  so  shadowy  and  ethereal,  must 
have  spoken  to  his  soul  of  that  world  on  whose 
threshold  he  stood. 

Come  away  with  us  now,  dear  C,  to  the  Vatican, 
whose  galleries  the  pope  graciously  opens  to  the 


196  ROME. 

public  at  twelve  o'clock  on  the  Monday  and  Thurs- 
day of  every  week,  and  permits  them  to  remain 
open  till  three,  when  his  guards  appear,  and  drive 
the  lingering  spectators,  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  from 
room  to  room,  till  they  are  fairly  out  of  the  palace. 
The  Vatican,  as  you  well  know,  is  the  pontifical 
palace.  It  is  an  irregular  mass  of  buildings,  "  a 
company  of  palaces,"  appended  to  St.  Peter's,  built 
from  time  to  time,  according  to  the  ability  or  whim 
of  successive  pontiffs,  without  reference,  in  its  exter- 
nal, to  architectural  harmony  or  beauty  of  any  kind. 
Mrs.  Stark  gives  70,000  feet  as  the  circumference  of 
these  edifices.  At  twelve  o'clock  the  Piazza  of  St. 
Peter's  is  thronged  with  English  equipages,  and 
visiters  from  all  part  of  the  civilized  world.  They 
enter  the  colonnade  that  leads  to  St.  Peter's,  turn 
and  ascend  a  side  staircase,  mount  to  a  spacious 
open  court  (to  which  privileged  carriages  may  drive 
by  making  the  circuit  of  St.  Peter's),  and  then  enter 
the  palace,  where,  scattered  through  the  immense 
galleries  and  numberless  apartments  of  the  Museum, 
the  multitudinous  congregation  that  pressed  through 
the  portals  appear  but  as  a  few  wanderers. 

My  dear  C,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  enumerate  or 
describe  to  you  the  treasures  of  these  marble  halls. 
You  know  that  the  creative  genius  of  nations  which 
had  passed  away  when  Rome  was  founded,  has 
contributed  to  fill  them ;  that  here  are  monuments  of 
Egyptian  and  Etruscan  art;  that  here  is  imbodied 
the  "  graceful  mythology"  of  Greece ;  that  here, 
in   enduring  marble,  are  her  philosophers,  poets, 


ROME.  197 

priestesses,  and  nymphs ;  and  that  here  is  our  real 
world  of  old  Rome  in  her  rulers  and  heroes ;  and, 
chiselled  while  the  eye  of  the  artist  was  on  their 
living-  heads,  are  the  busts  of  Julius  Caesar,  Cicero, 
Augustus,  Titus,  Trajan,  and — but  a  list  of  them 
would  fill  a  book  instead  of  a  letter.* 

Besides  the  men  of  past  ages,  you  have  their  his- 
tory, their  occupations,  their  religious  offices,  their 
games  written  in  marble.  These  are  gradations  of 
adornment,  as  if  to  accustom  your  eye  to  increase  of 
light.  The  walls  at  the  entrance  of  the  first  hall 
are  covered  with  sepulchral  inscriptions;  as  you 
proceed,  these  are  interspersed  with  fragments  of 
friezes  and  cornices.  Along  the  sides  of  the  walls 
are  placed  sarcophagi,  baths,  altars,  fountains,  urns, 
vases,  and  capitals.  You  proceed  on  through  length- 
ening galleries  with  side-halls,  and  apartments  with 
pictured  ceilings,  and  mosaic  pavements,  and  marble 
columns,  to  a  small  octagonal  court,  in  the  midst  of 
which  is  a  fountain  sparkling  in  the  bright,  unob- 
structed sunbeams.  Around  this  court  is  a  portico 
containing  the  most  precious  remains  of  art,  baths 
in  which   emperors  have  bathed,   and  sarcophagi 

*  The  bust  of  Julius  Caesar  is  said  by  the  antiquaries  to  be  a  faith- 
ful portrait.  The  face  is  so  deeply  furrowed  that  you  can  hardly  be- 
lieve it  to  be  of  a  man  not  more  than  fifty-six  (his  age  at  the  time  of 
his  death).  The  face  is  a  record  of  inflexible  resolution,  invincible 
purpose,  and  unintermitting  anxieties.  The  mouth  is  rather  like 
Washington's.  There  is  a  bust  of  Augustus  Caesar,  said  to  have 
been  made  when  he  was  a  boy  of  eight  or  nine,  and  said  to  be  the 
most  beautiful  bust  in  the  world.  It  is  faultless  in  its  symmetry; 
and  if  he  were  the  crafty  and  selfish  monarch  history  represents  him, 
he  must  sadly  have  perverted  his  nature. 

R2 


198  ROME. 

sculptured  for  their  mouldering  bodies.*  Enclosed 
in  the  four  angles  of  this  portico  are  masterpieces : 
the  Apollo,  the  Laocoon,  the  Antinous,  and,  last, 
Canova's  great  works,  Perseus  and  the  Pugilists.f 

From  this  portico  you  pass  to  the  hall  of  animals, 
where,  I  confess,  I  can  never  linger,  though  it  is 
filled  with  works  admirable  for  their  art;  but  ser- 
pents, fish,  reptiles,  even  stags  and  dogs,  have  little 
chance  when  pitted  against  gods  and  men.  There 
is  one  most  enchanting  little  apartment  that  we  can 
never  pass  by,  called  the  Stanza  delle  Maschere 
(Chamber  of  the  Masks),  from  the  masks  represented 
in  its  mosaic  pavement.  Among  several  masterpieces, 
it  has  an  exquisite  Faun  in  Rosso  AnticOy  found  in 
Hadrian's  villa,  with  the  Faun's  insignia,  the  basket, 
the  goat,  and  the  grapes  hanging  round  his  joyous 
face.  There  is  another  we  always  enter  too,  if 
we  can  tear  ourselves  from  the  Apollo  in  time,  in 
which  stands,  on  an  exquisite  mosaic  pavement,J  a 

*  Some  of  the  sarcophagi  are  among  the  most  beautiful  works  of 
art,  such  as  that  famous  one  in  the  capital  on  which  the  battle  of 
the  Amazons  is  sculptured.  That  with  the  story  of  Clytemnestra, 
and  many  others  which  I  examined,  would  seem  to  us  subjects  most 
unsuited  to  sepulchral  embellishment, 

t  No  works  of  modern  artists,  excepting  Canova's  and  Thorwald- 
sen's,  have  been  admitted  into  the  Vatican  ;  and  I  hope  my  presump- 
tion may  be  forgiven  if  I  express  a  doubt  whether  Canova's  will  re- 
tain  their  enviable  position  after  the  partiality  of  his  contemporaries 
has  passed  away.  The  author  of  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century 
says  that  Canova's  "Perseus  looks  more  like  an  actor  representing 
Perseus  than  like  Perseus  himself."  A  similar  criticism  might  be 
extended  to  his  other  works  ;  they  have  not  the  free,  untouched  na- 
ture of  the  antiques. 

X  This  is  the  most  beautiful  pavement  (except  the  unparalleled 
fragment  of  Pompeii)  we  saw  in  Italy.     It  was  found  fifty  miles 


ROME.  199 

porphyry  taza  or  vase  forty-two  feet  in  circumfer- 
ence. 

But,  my  dear  C,  I  must  hurry  on  Hhrough  apart- 
ments filled  with  busts,  candelabra,  and  every  form 
of  magnificent  vase  of  marble,  alabaster,  and  jas- 
per ;  through  "  the  hall  of  geographical  maps"  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  on  whose  walls  are 
painted  in  fresco  maps  of  all  the  pope's  dominions 
and  ground-plans  of  his  cities,  to  the  halls  of  tapes- 
try, worked  after  Raphael's  cartoons.  But  not  even 
here  can  a  lover  of  Raphael  linger,  for  on  and  above 
are  his  Madonna  di  Fuligno,  his  Transfiguration,  and 
his  Camere.  These  camere  or  chambers  are  four 
large  unfurnished  (unfurnished  !)  rooms  painted  in 
fresco,  walls  and  ceiling,  by  Raphael,  or  by  his  best 
pupils  from  his  designs.*  Each  picture  occupies 
one  side  of  a  room.  After  glancing  at  the  rest  I 
always  find  myself  standing  before  "  the  School  of 
Athens."  This  was  a  subject  of  Raphael's  own  se- 
lection. He  was  unshackled  by  dictum  of  pope  or 
cardinal,  and  freely  followed  out  the  suggestions  of 
his  inspired  genius,  and  you  have  the  result  in  the 
most  dramatic  combination  of  character,  circum- 
stance, and  expression.! 

from  Rome,  and,  encircling  a  colossal  head  of  Medusa,  represents 
the  combat  of  the  Centaurs  and  Lapithae. 

*  The  ceiling  of  one  apartment  is  an  exception.  The  rooms  were 
given  into  Raphael's  hands  with  orders  to  efface  the  paintings  al- 
ready there.  He  refused  to  touch  one  ceiling  which  had  been  done 
by  his  master,  Peruggino,  and  this  remains,  a  memorial  of  his  affec- 
tions more  precious  even  than  the  memorials  of  his  genius  that  sur- 
round it. 

t  I  shall  do  my  readers  a  favour  by  transcribing  the  description  of 
this  picture  from  "  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century :" 


200  ROME. 

It  would  seem  like  profanity  to  leave  the  Vat- 
ican without  mentioning  the  Transfiguration  and 
the  Communion  of  St.  Jerome,  by  Domenichino 
They  are  called  the  two  great  masterpieces  of  the 
world.  Raphael's  was  the  last  picture  on  which  he 
worked,  was  not  quite  finished  when  he  died,  and 
was  borne  before  his  body  in  his  funereal  procession. 
Domenichino  received  but  twelve  guineas  for  his 
from  ignorant  monks,  who  suffered  it  afterward  to  be 
thrown  into  a  garret.  But  here  it  now  stands,  for 
the  admiration  of  the  world,  and  to  dispute  the  palm 
with  RaphaePs  favourite  work.  Between  these  pic- 
tures we  always  finish  our  day  at  the  Vatican,  and 

"  On  the  steps  of  a  Grecian  portico  stand  Aristotle  and  Plato  en- 
gaged in  argument,  and  each  holding  a  volume  in  his  hand.  Their 
disciples  are  ranged  around,  attentively  listening  to  them.  Beneath 
is  Diogenes,  an  inimitable  figure,  listlessly  extended  on  the  steps. 
On  the  left,  at  the  top,  is  Socrates  earnestly  talking  to  young  Alcibi- 
ades,  who  listens  in  a  lounging  sort  of  attitude,  as  if  half  subdued 
by  the  wisdom,  half  willing  to  turn  away  from  it,  yet  still  resolved 
to  give  the  reins  to  pleasure  and  run  the  career  of  gay  enjoyment.  I 
know  not,  however,  why  the  young  Grecian  was  not  made  more 
handsome.  The  old  man  beside  him,  with  a  cap  on,  listening  to  Soc- 
rates, is  inimitable.  Another,  looking  over  the  shoulder  of  Pythago- 
ras, who  is  writing  his  works,  is,  if  possible,  still  finer.  The  figure 
in  deep,  abstracted  thought,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  with  a  pen  in  his 
hand,  is  Zoroaster  holding  a  globe  ;  Archimedes  is  stooping  to  trace 
a  geometrical  figure  with  compasses  on  a  slate  on  the  ground  ;  and 
the  whole  group  that  surrounds  him  are  beyond  all  praise.  In  the 
corner,  on  the  right,  the  figure  with  a  black  cap  is  the  portrait  of 
Raphael  himself,  and  that  beside  him  of  Pietro  Peruggino." 

It  is  strange  that  the  writer  of  this  description,  a  woman,  should 
have  omitted  to  notice  the  figure  of  Aspasia,  whose  intellectual  beau- 
ty is  so  shaded  with  sadness.  She  reminded  me  of  Hamlet  in  his 
soliloquy  of  "  To  be,  or  not  to  be."  She  seems  revolving  in  her 
mind  a  mystery  ;  the  capacities  of  her  nature  and  the  degradation  of 
her  sex. 


ROME.  201 

are  only  driven  from  them  by  the  unwelcome  cry  of 
the  guards,  "  Si  chiude  !"  the  signal  for  closing  the 
gates  of  Paradise  upon  us. 

We  make  our  exit  through  the  arcades,  or  "  Log- 
gie  di  Raffaelle.^^  These  arcades  are  attached  to 
three  stories  of  the  palace,  running  along  one  side, 
and  are  more  like  what  we  call  a  piazza  than  any- 
thing else.  They  are  all  painted  by  Raphael.  In 
one  series  he  begins,  as  some  preachers  do  in  their 
maiden-sermon,  at  the  creation  of  the  world,  and 
comes  down  to  the  crucifixion.  They  repay  the 
study  of  days,  but  we  have  not  yet  contrived  to 
save  a  half  hour  for  them ;  and  you  will  not  won- 
der at  this,  my  dear  C,  if  you  remember  how  much  the 
Vatican  contains  to  be  examined  besides  the  galleries, 
through  which  you  may  well  think  I  have  taken  but 
a  bat's  flight ;  its  immense  library,  and  the  Paolini 
and  Sistine  Chapels,  both  painted  by  Michael  Ange- 
lo — the  Sistine  with  his  masterpiece,  the  Last  Judg- 
ment.* 

My  dear  C,  we  began  this  morning  with  look- 
ing at  the  antiquities  of  old  Rome ;  then  followed 
a  memorial  of  the  middle  ages  at  Tasso's  tomb; 
and  in  the  museum  of  the  Vatican  we  have  been 
looking  back,  through  ages  and  ages,  far  into  the 
shadowy  past.  Do  you  wonder  at  the  common  tes- 
timony of  travellers  that  you  live  a  month  in  every 
day  at  Rome !  and  what  a  month  it  is ! 

*  The  author  of  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  asserts  on  the 
authority  of  a  "very  accurate"  Italian,  "That  you  cannot  see  the 
Vatican  Museum  without  walking  a  mile  and  three  quarters '" 


202  ROME. 

I  WALKED  an  hour  this  morning  with  R.  up  and 
down  the  colonnade  of  St.  Peter's.  There  had  been 
a  ceremony  in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  the  guarda 
nohile,  in  their  rich  uniforms,  as  they  came  slowly 
winding  down  the  magnificent  marble  staircase  in 
deep  shadow,  and  the  Swiss  guards  in  their  motley, 
at  the  end  of  the  colonnade,  their  arms  gleaming  in 
the  fitful  sunbeams,  and  the  light  glancing  over 
Charlemagne  and  his  voluminous  drapery,  made  a 
picture  for  us  as  we  pursued  our  damp  end  other- 
wise gloomy  walk. 

We  finished  the  morning  in  the  Vatican  library, 
where  we  had  a  pleasure  quite  peculiar  to  it,  I  be- 
lieve, of  walking  through  the  largest  library  in  the 
world  without  seeing  a  book !  not  the  largest  in  the 
number  of  books,  for,  though  it  is  enriched  by  the 
accumulations  of  ages  and  the  bequests  of  monarchs, 
the  number,  including  MSS.,  does  not  exceed  100,000 
volumes — but  largest  in  space  !  The  principal  hall 
is  1200  feet  long,  and  into  this  you  enter  by  one  of 
200  feet  which,  in  my  ignorance,  I  took  for  the 
whole,  and  dawdled  through  it,  looking  at  its  rich 
vases  and  frescoed  walls,  which  are  adorned  with 
portraits  of  all  the  great  promoters  of  learning  from 
Adam  down.  The  books  and  MSS.  are  locked  in 
w^ooden  cases,  of  which  I  presume  his  holiness 
keeps  the  key  more  tenaciously  than  he  does  that  he 
holds  in  St.  Peter's  right,  as  he  had  far  rather  open 
the  gates  of  Paradise  to  the  dead  than  the  Paradise 
of  knowledge  to  the  Hving.     The  pictures  on  the  li- 


ROME.  203 

brary  walls  representing  the  munificent  popes  gra- 
ciously receiving  from  their  authors  literary  produc- 
tions and  discoveries  in  science,  seemed  rather  a  se- 
vere comment  on  the  present  pontiff's  exclusion  of 
letters  and  veto  of  literary  associations ! 

The  custode  unlocked  many  of  the  cases  to  exhibit 
their  treasures.  Among  them  are  a  quantity  of 
quaint  old  pictures  of  the  earliest  period  of  the  re- 
vival of  the  arts.  It  is  curious  to  see  how  the  pat- 
ronage of  the  Church  has  prevented  the  exercise  of 
the  painter's  invention.  Here  are  the  same  crucifix- 
ions, martyrdoms,  and  holy  families  that  you  see  now 
freshly-painted  in  Camucini's  studio. 

We  saw  relics  of  the  early  Christians,  crucifixes 
and  lamps  that  were  found  in  the  catacombs.  A 
strange  passage  the  mind  makes,  dear  C,  from  this 
pontifical  palace  to  St.  Peter  and  his  friends  lighting 
these  lamps  in  the  caverns  of  the  dead  for  their  pro- 
scribed worship. 

A  curious  relic  of  another  kind  was  shown  us  : 
the  hair  of  a  woman  found  in  a  tomb  on  the  Appi- 
an  Way.  There  they  are — a  little  mouldy — the 
very  tresses  that  some  2000  years  ago  adorned  the 
head  of  a  Roman  lady,  probably  the  only  unchanged 
mortal  remains  of  all  the  masses  of  men  and  women 
that  lived  in  ancient  Rome  ! 


My  dear  C, 
The  museum  of  the  Capitol,  its  sculpture,  paint- 
ings, and  relics  of  antiquity,  -vould  be  quite  enough 


204  ROME. 

to  draw  the  travelling  world  to  Rome,  if  everything 
else  here  were  swallowed  up.  Volumes  have  been 
written  upon  it,  but  I  shall  wisely  abstain  from  wri- 
ting even  one  letter,  and  only  tell  you  what  exquisite 
pleasure  I  have  had  from  visiting  again  and  again 
the  Dying  Gladiator  which  is  in  this  collection. 
The  artists  appear  to  me  often  to  have  sacrificed  ex- 
pression to  serenity — to  a  sort  of  superhuman,  divine 
tranquillity ;  but  the  brow  and  lip  of  the  dying  gla- 
diator express  the  deepest,  saddest  emotion.  Perhaps 
it  owes  something  of  its  effect  to  Byron's  admirable 
interpretation.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  if  he  had 
never  written,  and  this  statue  had  never  received  its 
suggestive  appellation,  one  could  not  look  at  it 
without  seeing  a  man  of  refined  nature  death-strick- 
en without  hope,  and  whose  most  dejected  thoughts 
are  en  some  distant  object  of  tenderest  love.  It  was 
for  Byron's  gifted  vision  to  see  in  these  objects  "  his 
young  barbarians  all  at  play." 

There  are  masterpieces  in  the  hall  of  paint- 
ings in  the  Capitol.  The  picture  that^kept  me 
standing  before  it  half  an  hour  when  I  was  sick 
with  weariness,  is  Guido's  St.  Sebastian.  The  mar- 
tyrdom of  this  poor  saint  is  a  favourite  subject  with 
the  painters,  and  you  see  him  in  all  the  galleries 
stuck  full  of  arrows.  Mere  physical  suffering  is  a 
vulgar  means  of  producing  effect.  Guido  exhibits 
the  physical  sensation  to  show  the  triumph  of  the 
soul;  it  is  the  deep  shadow  that  brings  out  the 
light.  The  young  martyr  is  a  beautiful  boy  of  four- 
teen, innocent  as  a  baby  and  fresh  as  a  Hebe.     His 


ROME.  205 

hands  are  tied  together  above  his  head  to  a  tree ; 
they  have  not  only  an  unresisting  expression,  but 
one  of  voluntary  submission ;  one  arrow  is  sticking 
in  his  side,  another  in  his  armpit.  The  calm,  sweet 
resignation  of  his  face  expresses,  "  Though  he  slay 
me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him." 

Among  the  curiosities  of  the  Capitol  (we  always 
look  in  faith,  dear  C. ;  it  is  a  great  help  at  Rome)  is 
the  bronze  wolf,  with  her  foster-sons,  mentioned  by 
Cicero,  and  said  to  have  been  struck  in  the  prophetic 
storm  on  the  night  before  Caesar's  death — the  first 
rostral  column,  as  appears  by  its  inscription — and 
the  Fasti  Considares,  or  lists  of  the  consuls  (nearly 
entire),  with  the  date  of  their  election  and  the  term 
of  their  service  engraved  upon  stone  tablets. 


The  generosity  of  the  proprietors  of  the  Roman 
palaces,  in  throwing  them  open  to  the  occupation  of 
visiters,  is  worthy  of  all  praise.  Occupation  it  may 
be  called,  as  from  morning  to  night  they  are  trav- 
ersed by  these  new  hordes  of  Northern  invaders. 
The  ground  story  of  a  Roman  palace  is  given  up  to 
menial  offices  and  shops;  the  picture-gallery  occu- 
pies the  second,  or  the  greater  part  of  it.  A  range 
of  spacious  rooms  and  halls  is  filled  from  floor  to 
ceiling  with  pictures.  There  is  little  furniture ; 
curtains,  perhaps,  of  faded  damask,  and  chairs  and 
tables  centuries  old.     I  have  never  seen,  excepting 

in  the  S Palace,  any  look  of  habitancy.     There 

we  found  warm  rooms,  and  a  table  spread  with 
'     Vol.  II.— S 


206  ROME. 

books,  drawings,  and  the  delicate  needlework  of  a 
lady  who  had  been  driven  from  the  room  by  our  en* 
trance.  Within  the  last  few  days  rumour  says  that  the 
obstinacy  of  this  lady  in  insisting  on  having  the  choice 
of  her  own  rooms  has  led  to  a  conjugal  quarrel,  and 
ended  in  her  leaving  her  husband's  bed  and  board, 
and  taking  lodgings  in  another  palace.  I  could  fill  a 
letter  with  a  mere  list  of  the  pictures  of  one  of  these 
galleries.  They  are  vast  storehouses  of  art,  more  or 
less  valuable ;  but  not  one  of  them  but  contains 
some  works  of  the  first  painters  who  have  ever  lived. 
Almost  every  day  we  have  a  new  one  to  visit.  Es- 
timate our  industry,  if  you  can,  and  thank  me  for 
imitating  Byron's  sensible  example,  and,  instead  of 
Dragging  you  round  with  us,  writing  "  Vide  Guide- 
book;" and  if  that  guide-book  should  chance  to  be 
Madame  Stark's,  you  will  admire  her  laconic  opin- 
ions of  pictures  thus  expressed  after  the  insertion  of 
the  name,  !— !  !— !  !  !  ! 

Of  all  countries,  the  southern  part  of  Italy  would 
appear  the  most  delicious  for  rural  enjoyments.  The 
villas  about  Rome  are  abandoned  from  dread  of  the 
malaria.  Their  possessors  go  to  them  in  winter 
only,  and  then  for  short  periods.  The  Romans,  with 
their  resources  of  soil  and  climate,  might  make  par- 
adises of  their  villas,  if  they  studied  and  obeyed  na- 
ture instead  of  torturing  her  with  trimming  their 
trees  into  every  fantastical  form,  imprisoning  their 
avenues  with  hedges  that  look  as  much  as  possible 
like  solid  green  walls,  and  laying  out  their  garden- 
grounds,  like  those  of  Albani,  with  coloured  stones 


ROME.  207 

or  flowers  in  arabesque  patterns !  But  why,  you 
may  ask  me,  with  the  everlasting  inconsistency  of 
human  expectations,  look  for  everything  here  ?  I 
am  not  sure  I  should  not  steal  away  from  the  fault- 
less beauty  and  perfection  of  adornment  of  an  Eng- 
lish nobleman's  park,  garden,  and  conservatories, 
to  wander  over  the  old  Mattei  Villa  on  the  Ccelian 
Hill,  ruined  and  abandoned  as  it  is,  with  its  rag- 
ged berceaus,  its  untrimmed  rose-hedges,  its  bro- 
ken-nosed statues,  and  its  vineyard,  as  it  now  is, 
broken  and  sear,  for  from  its  high-swelling  grounds 
you  have  an  unbroken  view  of  the  mountains  that 
half  girdle  Rome.  You  turn  your  eyes  from  Sorade 
to  Tivoli,  to  the  Sabine  Mount,  to  Albano;  they 
bear  names  to  conjure  with ;  and  it  seems  as  if 
Nature  delighted  in  showing  them  in  a  light  she  has 
for  nothing  else.  They  are  invested  with  a  silvery 
mist ;  you  would  call  it  ethereal,  for  there  is  nothing 
dimming  or  shadowy  about  it ;  but  I  fear  ethereal 
mist  is  nonsense.  It  is  a  sheathed  light,  a  brighter 
moonlight.  The  outlines  blend  with  the  atmosphere. 
Before  you  is  the  wide,  desolate  campagna  with  its 
sepulchral  grass,  and  the  long  lines  of  broken  aque- 
ducts, Cecilia  Metella's  tomb,  the  huge  ruins  of  Car- 
acalla's  baths,  St.  John  Lateran's  statues  stand- 
ing boldly  up  against  the  sky,  the  walls  of  Rome, 
with  their  gates,  towers,  turrets,  and  voices  of  histo- 
ry ;  and  the  whole  city  of  Rome  beneath  you,  with 
its  living  crowds,  and  its  dead  congregations,  its  St. 
Peter's,  and  its  desolate  places  where  the  "  tent-roofed 
pine"  and  the  slender  cypress  stand  as  mourners  for 
the  dead. 


208  ROME. 

At  the  Villa  Albani,  whose  treasures  of  art  any 
monarch  in  Europe  might  envy,  we  found  some- 
thing much  rarer  in  the  dwelling  of  a  Roman  prince 
than  chef  d'oeuvres  of  painting  or  sculpture;  car- 
peted rooms  with  a  comfortable  enjoyed  aspect,  fire 
in  the  chimney,  and  English  books  and  fresh  jour- 
nals on  the  tables.  Irvino-'s  Alhambra  was  among: 
them.  Our  cicerone  told  us  the  padroni  read  Eng- 
lish :  a  sign  of  intellectual  life.  You  will  not  think 
me  quite  a  savage,  dear  C,  though  the  lovers  of  art 
might,  if  I  tell  you  w-hat  most  interested  me  at  the 
Villa  Albani.  I  had  been  looking  at  the  admi- 
rable group  of  Dffidalus  and  Icarus,  and  as  I  turned 
from  it  my  eye  fell  on  some  toys  thrown  by  a  tired 
child  into  a  magnificent  old  vase.  I  forgot  the  gods, 
nymphs,  and  heroes  about  me ;  my  thoughts  flew 
home  to  you,  my  dear  C. ;  to  your  "  young  barbarians 
at  play,"  and  I  hung  brooding  over  the  little  tin 
coach  and  battered  doll  till  I  was  summoned  away. 

The  Borghese  Villa  is  on  the  Pincian  Hill,  just 
under  the  walls  of  Rome,  and  is,  indeed,  princely  in 
its  extent  and  decorations.  Prince  Borghese  is  noted 
for  his  liberality,  and  as,  alas !  few  Roman  princes 
now  are,  for  his  immense  w^ealth. 

The  author  of  "  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century" 
happily  says  that  "  Julius  Casar  only  bequeathed  his 
gardens  to  the  Roman  people,  the  Borghese  princes 
give  theirs."  Their  gates  and  doors  are  always 
open,  and  the  visitor  enters  them  when  and  how  he 
pleases.  R.  and  E.  often  vary  their  drives  by  going 
through  those  beautiful  grounds,  where  the  fountains 


ROME.  209 

are  gushing,  the  grass  is  always  green ;  where  the 
hedges  and  long  avenues  of  trees  are  always  ver- 
dant, and  the  birds  always  singing ;  and  where  you 
may  lose  yourself  in  the  sweet  fancy  of  a  perpetual 
summer  if  you  will  not  foolishly  look  about  for  bird- 
cages, and  observe  that  the  trees  are  cypress  and 
ilex  (a  species  of  oak  that  never  changes),  and  the 
hedges  of  laurels.  Certainly  there  was  no  illusion 
in  the  roses  we  saw  blooming  there  in  profusion  on 
the  29th  of  December.  How  far  below  zero  stood 
your  mercury  on  that  day,  dear  C.  ? 

I  passed  four  hours  on  Friday  in  walking  through 
the  glades  and  avenues  of  the  Doria  Villa  with  Lady 
D.,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  four  hours  could 
scarcely  be  more  delightfully  passed  than  with  an 
agreeable  companion  there.  It  is  on  the  western 
side  of  the  Tiber.  Its  present  mistress  is  a  beautiful 
young  Englishwoman  of  the  Talbot  family;  but 
there  is  no  English  mark  upon  her  villa;  and  per- 
haps it  is  good  taste  to  keep  up  what  is  national  and 
characteristic.  Nothing  can  be  better  than  the  no- 
ble pines  that  embellish  these  grounds,  and  which, 
wherever  you  see  them,  appear  in  striking  harmony 
"with  the  spirit  of  the  scenery  of  Rome.  The  pine 
of  Italy  is  unlike  any  that  we  have,  and  that  of 
Rome  seems  to  me  richer  and  broader  than  I  have 
seen  elsewhere.  It  has  a  straight  and  lofty  trunk, 
and  a  broad,  horizontal  top  of  foliage  that  seems  to 
have  been  growing  deeper  and  deeper  ever  since  it 
or  the  world  stood.  The  affluence  of  fountains  at 
this  villa  is,  too,  a  characteristic  beauty.    The  same 

S2 


210  ROME. 

stream  that  supplies  the  Paulina,  the  Niagara  of  Ro- 
man fountains,  is  conducted  across  the  Doria  Villa. 

It  is  peculiar  to  Rome  that,  stay  here  as  long  as 
you  will,  if  you  have  a  month,  a  day,  an  hour,  ten 
minutes  to  spare,  you  may  fill  it  with  some  object  of 
deep  interest.  We  had  a  half  hour  on  our  hands 
after  leaving  the  Doria  Villa,  and  Lady  D.,  who  selects 
her  objects  with  the  skill  that  can  only  be  acquired 
by  a  long  familiarity  with  everything  in  and  about 
Rome,  drove  to  the  Paulina  Fountain,  to  the  beautiful 
view  on  the  Janiculum,  and  to  St.  Pietro  in  Monto- 
rio,  where,  in  a  court  adjoining  the  church,  is  a  small 
circular  temple  designed  by  Michael  Angelo,  with 
columns  of  Oriental  granite,  erected  on  the  very  spot 
where  St.  Peter  was  crucified.  So  says  tradition, 
and  so  believe  the  faithful. 


My  dear  C,  you  can  hardly  imagine  anything 
more  sombre  than  a  drive  in  the  evening  through 
the  wretchedly-lighted  streets  of  Rome.  Teeming 
as  they  are  with  human  life  in  the  daytime,  by 
eight  o'clock  you  see  only  here  and  there  a  dim 
form  shrinking  away  from  your  coach-wheels,  or  an 
indistinct  figure  stealing  along  in  the  deepest  shade 
where  all  is  shadow.  There  is  the  gloom  of  night 
among  the  tombs,  without  the  consciousness  that 
"  the  weary  are  at  rest,  and  the  wicked  have  ceased 
from  troubhng."  If  you  go  to  visit  a  friend  lodged 
in  a  palace,  you  will  have  the  happiness  to  find  the 
staircase  lighted,  and  a  porter  ready  to  admit  you ; 


ROME.  211 

but  a  Roman  liouse  is  like  a  closed  prison.  We  went 
last  evening  to  see  our  coimtrywoman  Mrs.  L.  After 
Fran9ois  had  rapped  repeatedly  we  heard  a  child's 
voice  uttering  the  never-failing  inquiry,  "Chie?" 
("  Who  is  it  ?"),  to  which  Fran(;ois  responded  "  Ami- 
ci"  ("  Friends").  After  a  long  pause,  and  impatient 
shouts  from  Franqois,  seconded  by  Mariano,  of  "  Apri- 
te  i"  "  Aprite  !"  ("  Open  the  door  !"),  "  Ecco !"  said 
the  little  voice,  and  "  Bravo  !"  cried  Francois ;  and 
the  parley  was  ended  by  the  child  opening  the 
doof  and  conducting  us  up  a  long  staircase  by  the 
light  of  a  brazen  antique  lamp  in  her  hand,  rather  tal- 
ler, it  seemed  to  me,  than  she  was. 

The  lower  classes  of  the  people  are  en  scene  in 
the  streets ;  and  the  stranger,  who  has  no  opportu- 
nity of  seeing  the  better  condition  of  Italian  life,  has 
here  his  best  opportunities  for  observation ;  and  I 
assure  you,  my  dear  C,  these  streets  are  a  curious 
and  affecting  spectacle  to  one  accustomed  to  the 
bustling,  achieving  industry  of  New-York,  or  to  the 
quiet  diligence  and  innocent  leisure  of  our  village 
life.  The  first  thing  that  meets  my  eye  as  I  come 
into  the  drawing-room  in  the  morning  is  the  drilling 
of  soldiers  before  our  window.  This  is  the  great 
instruction  and  business  of  Rome  ! 

As  we  drove  over  to  the  Vatican  to-day  I  was 
fancying  how  our  little  B.,  with  her  quick  sympa- 
thies, would  endure  the  aspect  of  this  throng  of  peo- 
ple, who,  in  the  affecting  language  of  F.  B.'s  slave, 
"  have  no  prospect :"  how  she  would  by  turns  laugh 
and  cry )  but  I  fear  the  tears  would  carry  the  day— 


21^  ROME, 

try  it,  dear  B.  Take  this  seat  beside  me.  The 
streets,  with  an  unclouded  sun  for  weeks,  are  mud- 
dy and  sHmy;  they  are  so  narrow  and  the  houses 
are  so  high,  that  at  this  season  they  have  no  chance 
to  dry.  That  heap  of  indescribable  filth  is  permitted, 
as  you  perceive  by  the  word  "  irnmondezza''  on  the 
wall — this,  like  many  corners  of  the  streets,  is  a 
place  of  common  deposite.  We  have  turned  into 
the  Via  Serpenti,  and  here  you  may  see  the  average 
condition  of  life  in  Rome.  In  the  English  quarter 
it  is  better,  in  other  quarters-much  worse.  The  win- 
dows of  the  lower  stories  are  grated,  not  glazed. 
Most  of  the  workshops  have  no  windows ;  the  light 
is  admitted  through  the  open  door,  and  most  cheer- 
less and  comfortless  they  are  in  these  damp,  sunless 
streets  when  the  weather  is  as  cold  as  our  ordinary 
March.  But,  alas !  there  are  few  people  in  these 
workshops,  and  little  to  be  done  in  them  !*  You 
are  shuddering,  B.  You  fear  we  shall  trample  down 
some  of  the  people  in  this  crowd ;  there  is  no  dan* 
ger ;  the  coachmen  are  accustomed  to  driving  through 
full  streets,  and  the  people  know  so  well  how  to 
take  care  of  themselves  that  they  never  move  aside 
till  the  horses'  hoofs  are  close  upon  them.  Do  you 
observe  the  sullen,  brooding  aspect  of  those  men 
who  are  sauntering  up  and  down  in  the  sun,  nei- 

*  Where  there  is  an  impoverished  population  like  that  of  Rome, 
there  is,  of  course,  little  employment  for  domestic  ariisans,  the  hat- 
ter, the  shoemaker,  &c.  The  visiters  at  Rome  provide  for  their  per- 
sonal wants  before  they  go  there.  Wo  be  unto  you  if  you  chance  to 
need  a  new  hat,  a  pair  of  shoes,  or  gloves  in  the  city  of  the  Caesars ! 
You  can  get  them  but  of  a  wretched  quality  and  at  a  dear  rate. 


ROME.  213 

ther  talking,  observing,  nor  observed,  or  the  man 
leaning  against  that  ruined  arch  wrapped  in  his  tat- 
tered cloak  with  a  remnant  of  a  hat  ?  What  a  ma- 
jestic, free,  and  graceful  air  he  has ;  he  looks  like  a 
ruined  rebel-chieftain  brooding  over  fresh  mischief. 
But  I  see  the  men  on  the  piazza,  playing  at  ball, 
quoits,  and  mora,  have  caught  your  eye — or  are  you 
looking  at  the  women  in  that  door-step  who  are 
clamouring  and  gesticulating  at  such  a  rate?  Do 
you  think  they  have  detected  a  thief  or  discovered 
a  murderer  ?  no,  it  is  but  their  ordinary  manner. 
They  are  more  cheerful  than  the  men,  because  they 
are  even  more  ignorant;  they  think  less,  and  they 
have  some  employment;  sewing  and  knitting  are 
unfailing  to  women.  You  are  wasting  your  pity  on 
those  babies ;  for  though  they  are  left  to  the  tending 
of  these  pale,  lean  little  children  not  more  than  four 
or  five  years  old,  and  though  (as  I  am  told)  those 
swaddling-clothes  in  w^hich  they  are  wrapped  like 
mummies  are  not  opened  more  than  once  a  week,  yet 
they  are  quiet  and  contented. 

In  five  weeks  that  we  have  now  been  here,  and 
every  day,  and  all  day,  in  the  street  amid  this  baby 
population  I  have  never  heard  but  one  crying;  is 
not  this  a  fact  in  favour  of  the  virtue  of  the  open 
air  1  This  seems  to  me  their  only  advantage. 
These  beginnings  of  human  life,  so  hailed  and  cher- 
ished with  us  as  the  blossoms  of  future-sustaining 
fruit,  are  here  but  a  burden.  I  have  never  once 
seen  a  child  caressed  in  Rome,  even  by  its  mother ! 
Do  you  ask  why  there  are  so  many  soldiers,  idle  as 


214  ROME. 

the  idlest,  mingling  with  the  crowd  ? — dogs  watching 
the  flock,  my  dear,  but  ill-trained,  ill-fed,  and  in- 
operative; the  pope's  government  has  not  energy 
enough  to  maintain  a  vigorous  police.  Those  are 
Capuchins ;  you  will  meet  them  in  every  street  in 
Rome,  with  their  butternut-coloured,  hooded  gowns, 
fastened  with  cords  around  their  w^aists,  their  long 
beards,  and  their  feet  shodden  only  with  an  incrus- 
tation of  dirt ;  and  this  is  a  procession  of  Dominicans 
— noble-looking  men,  are  they  not  1  these  vehicles 
have  stopped  to  let  them  pass,  and  we  must  stop 
too.  What  huge  animals  are  the  oxen  attached  to 
these  vehicles,  and  observe  the  half-circular  pent- 
house of  skins  by  which  the  driver  shelters  himself 
from  the  wind — not  a  bad  contrivance.  Ah,  the 
beggars  are  taking  advantage  of  our  pause  to  come 
out  upon  us  from  the  sunny  steps  of  that  magnificent 
church,  where  they  always  congregate.  Listen  to 
them ;  mark  the  words  of  their  petition,  forever  re- 
peated and  often  true,  and  thank  God,  dear  B.,  that 
you  never  heard  it  in  your  own  country.  "Ho 
fame !"  "  Muoro  della  fame !"  "  Non  m'abban- 
donate !"  "  I  am  hungry !"  "  I  am  dying  with 
hunger !"     "  Do  not  abandon  me !" 

See,  as  we  pass  the  bridge  of  St.  Angelo,  and  the 
filthy  street  that  debouches  into  the  Piazza  di  St. 
Pietro,  able-bodied  men  lolling  on  thosev  wooden 
benches,  and  women  in  rags,  \5^ith  faces  and  forms 
that  might  personate  Sabine  matrons.  See  the  blind 
and  old  stretching  their  hands  for  charity,  and  the 
cardinal's  gilded  coach  dashing  on  before  us.     But 


ROME.  215 


we  are  at  the  Vatican — shall  we  go  in,  and  in  that 
beautiful  marble  world  forget  this  world  of  flesh  and 
blood — of  sensation  and  sufferingr  ?* 


*  There  is  enough  inexpHcable  misery  in  the  world ;  the  want 
and  suffering  of  the  Roman  people  are  not  so.  There  is  in  M. 
Sismondi's  "  Etudes  sur  I'Economie  PoUtique"  a  very  instructive 
essay  on  the  Campagna  of  Rome,  in  which  he  shows,  after  laborious 
investigation  and  accurate  personal  observation,  that  the  condition 
of  the  land,  and  the  misery  resulting  from  it,  are  owing  to  a  violation 
of  those  laws  of  Providence  which,  if  strictly  observed,  would  se- 
cure food  and  raiment  to  every  member  of  the  human  family.  He 
does  not  look  at  the  Campagna  through  the  veil  in  which  poets  and 
picturesque  tourists  invest  it,  but  he  sees  and  exposes  the  abuses 
which  have  reduced  it  to  its  present  desolateness  and  cursed  it  with 
malaria.  It  is  impossible  to  compress  M.  Sismondi's  facts  into  our 
narrow  limits ;  but  it  is  easy  to  see  that  malaria  and  every  other 
mischief  must  result  from  the  present  mode  of  cultivation.  An  ex- 
tent of  territory,  aying  in  some  directions  twenty,  in  others  fifty 
miles  from  Rome,  is  in  the  hands  of  about  eighty  proprietors,  whose 
only  object  is  to  get  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  revenue  for 
themselves,  with  the  least  possible  cost  of  labour.  As,  in  its  present 
vicious  mode  of  cultivation,  grazing  produces  greater  returns  to  the 
proprietor  than  tillage,  no  portion  of  the  land  is  ploughed  more  than 
once  in  ten  years.  There  is  one  man  over  all,  called  Mercante  di 
Campagna ;  he  has  superintendents  under  him,  who,  like  the  over- 
seers of  the  slaves  of  the  South,  traverse  the  fields  on  horseback,  see- 
ing that  others  work.  The  actual  labourers  are  brought,  not  from 
Rome,  but  from  the  mountains  ;  some  even  from  the  kingdom  of  Na- 
ples. They  come  with  their  families,  sometimes  in  companies  of 
five  hundred.  They  encamp  on  the  Campagna,  and  sleep  on  the 
ground,  or  creep  at  night  into  the  catacombs,  the  old  towers,  or  the 
tombs.  They  are  fed  in  the  cheapest  possible  manner.  Is  it  strange 
that,  at  the  most  moderate  computation,  at  least  a  tenth  of  their  num- 
ber perish  every  season,  though  the  season  be  short — the  sowers 
being  from  one  district,  the  reapers  from  another,  and  so  on.  The 
principle  by  which  human  life  is  multiplied,  and  sustenance,  com- 
fort, and  progress  secured  to  it,  is  totally  neglected,  viz.,  the  giving 
to  the  labourer  a  fair  share  of  the  product  of  his  labour,  and  connect- 
ing him  by  residence  on  and  interest  in  the  soil  he  cultivates.  Com- 
pare the  condition  of  the  foreign  and  stinted  labourer  on  the  Cam- 


216  ROME. 

I  HAVE  never  yet  met  a  stranger  in  Italy  who  did 
not  profess  to  love  Rome.  Here  he  hngers,  and 
here  he  returns;  here,  though  he  be  of  the  dullest 
mould,  he  will  be  waked  to  a  new  existence ;  and 
after  a  little  while  will  find  himself  getting  the  feel- 
ing of  a  lover  for  the  desolate  p.laces  of  the  old  city. 
I  have  been  disappointed  in  the  ruins ;  not  in  their 
effect,  but  in  their  condition.  Excepting  the  Colos- 
seum, the  Pantheon,  the  Temple  of  Vesta,  and  a  few 
others,  they  are  such  mere  ruins,  so  changed  in  form, 
and  stripped  of  their  original  embellishments,  that 
they  only  serve  to  kindle  the  enthusiast  or  puzzle 
the  antiquary.* 

pagna  with  that  of  the  hopeful  young  proprietor  on  our  most  un- 
wholesome new  lands  ;  no  wonder  that  in  the  one  case  the  malaria 
is  conquered,  and  that  in  the  other  it  goes  on  conquering  and  to  con- 
quer, till  Rome  must  become  its  own  inevitable  tomb. 

*  Our  servant  was  quite  un-Italian  in  his  tastes,  and  often  amused 
himself  with  our  zeal.  "You  like  broken  stones,"  he  said;  "I  like 
news"  (meaning  new  things).  ♦'  I  would  not  give  Astor  House  for 
all  the  ruins  in  Rome."  This  he  said  when  we  had  kept  his  dinner 
waiting,  having  spent  the  day  in  wandering  through  the  broken 
"  arches  of  the  palace  of  the  C^sars"  and  visiting  Sallust's  garden. 
The  massive  foundations  only  of  the  house  of  this  doubtful  and  lux- 
urious Roman  are  traceable.  The  form  of  the  circus  adjoining  his 
garden  is  discernible,  and  at  its  extremity  is  the  fragment  of  the  wall 
of  a  temple,  and  a  few  of  the  niches  in  which  beautiful  statues  were 
found.  One  of  the  obelisks  that  adorns  the  modern  city  was  found 
here.  But  though  these  adornments  have  long  ago  disappeared,  we 
felt,  as  we  walked  through  the  rustling  caves,  with  broken  buttress- 
es matted  with  dangling  ivy  hanging  over  our  heads,  the  presence 
of  the  great  men  who  had  walked  and  talked  here,  and,  perhaps, 
sometimes  not  more  wisely  than  we  I 

When  you  measure  the  extent  of  private  possession  in  old  Rome, 
the  gardens,  circuses,  and  all  the  appliances  of  individual  luxury 


ROME.  217 

But  there  are  objects  in  Rome  that  indescribably 
surpass  your  expectations,  which  indeed,  I  honestly 
confess,  scarcely  entered  into  mine ;  among  these  are 
the  scenery  of  Rome  and  its  surroundings,  the  obe- 
lisks and  pillars,  and  the  fountains  which  almost  re- 
alize your  fancies  of  Oriental  adornment.  As  to  art 
in  Rome,  antique  and  modern,  as  you  may  imagine 
even  from  my  very  inadequate  expression  of  our 
pleasure,  it  creates  for  us  of  the  New  World  a  new 
life. 

I  have  as  yet  said  nothing  to  you  of  the  churches 
of  Rome,  simply  because  so  much  has  already  been, 
said,  and  for  another,  not  quite  as  satisfactory  reason, 
that  so  much  remains  to  say  which  I  have  no  power 
to  communicate.  There  is  little  beauty  in  their  ex- 
terior, and  that  little  is  impaired  by  their  being 
hedged  in  by  other  buildings.  The  effect  of  the  ex- 
terior of  an  old  Gothic  village  church  in  England, 
with  its  harmonious  accompaniments,  is  better  than 
that  of  any  church  in  Rome ;  but,  compared  with  the 
interior  of  these  churches,  any  Protestant  church 
that  I  have  seen,  even  Winchester  Cathedral,  is  like 
a    disfurnished  house.     The  Romish  churches  have 

within  the  walls  of  the  city,  you  wonder  where  "  the  million"  were 
lodged;  truly,  they  were  herded  together  as 

"  Woollen  vassals,  things  created 
To  buy  and  sell  with  groats,  lo  show  bare  heads 
In  congregations." 

It  was  reserved  for  a  later  period  of  the  world,  and  a  then  undis- 
covered country,  to  put  within  the  power  of  these  "  rank-scerted" 
vassals  a  name,  a  political  existence,  and  a  home  with  all  its  sweet 
charities. 

Vol.  II.— T 


218  ROME. 

fallen  heirs  to  the  accumulated  art  and  wealth  of  the 
Old  World.  The  columns  that  embellished  the  tem- 
ples of  the  gods  now  support  the  roofs  of  the  Chris- 
tian temple.  The  jasper  and  porphyry  that  adorned 
their  palaces,  and  the  sarcophagi  in  which  their  em- 
perors and  heroes  were  embalmed,  are  now  conse- 
crated to  the  altars  of  the  saints.  The  vases  for 
their  lustral  water  are  now  the  henitiers  from  which 
the  pious  Catholic  crosses  himself. 

These  churches  have  been  enriched,  too,  with  the 
spoils  of  the  Eastern  world,  with  the  gifts  of  em- 
perors and  queens  from  St.  Helena's  days  to  ours ; 
and  with  the  offerings  of  rich  penitents  who  hoped 
at  the  last  to  drive  a  good  bargain  by  purchasing 
the  treasures  of  the  other  w^orld  with  those  they 
could  no  longer  enjoy  in  this.  Infinite  industry  has 
been  employed  on  them,  and  art  has  given  them  its 
divinest  works — ^such  works  as  Raphael's  Sibyls, 
Guido's  Archangel  Michael,  and  Domenichino's  Fres- 
coes.* 

How  I  have  sometimes  wished  for  some  of  you  at 
home  who  have  worshipped  all  your  lives  in  a  Pu- 
ritan "  meeting-house^^  to  walk  up  the  nave  of  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore  with  me  (a  church  very  near  us), 
between  its  double  row  of  most  magnificent  Ionic  pil- 
lars, which  once  adorned  a  temple  of  Juno,  and  pass- 
ing by  chapels  and  altars  laden  with  vessels  of  sil- 

*  These  are  but  a  few  examples  of  the  many  masterpieces  remain- 
ing in  the  churches  for  which  they  were  originally  designed — some 
have  been  removed — they  either  hung  were  they  cou)d  be  but  imper- 
fectly seen,  or  they  were  exposed  to  premature  decay  from  the  damp- 
ness of  their  position. 


ROME.  219 

ver  and  gold,  where  candles  are  forever  burning  be- 
fore the  pictures  of  saints  and  martyrdoms,  sit  down 
with  me  on  the  steps  of  the  Borghese  Chapel,  the 
richest  in  the  world  !  It  has  cost  millions,  and  it  is 
but  a  side  apartment  of  the  church,  a  rich  pendant 
to  a  chain.  There  is  a  beautiful  pavement,  the  walls 
are  incrusted  with  Oriental  marbles,  the  ceiling  is 
painted  with  frescoes;  there  are  columns  of  porphyry 
and  lapis  lazuli,  rich  carvings,  pictures  in  mosaic, 
and  splendid  monuments ;  not  a  square  inch  is  left 
unembellished.  And  yet,  dear  C,  I  think  your  eye 
w^ould  turn  from  all  this  gorgeousness  to  the  squalid, 
lean  beggar  kneeling  on  the  step  beside  you. 

The  Colosseum  is  now  a  church,  and  the  Pan- 
theon, once  a  temple  for  all  the  gods,  is  now  conse- 
crated to  the  one  true  God.*  The  statues  of  the  di- 
vinities have  disappeared  from  the  Pantheon,  and  the 
niches  they  occupied  are  now  filled  with  tawdrily- 
dressed  altars  and  the  pictures  of  saints. 

There  is  a  little  chapel  of  the  Capuchins  near 
the  Piazza  Barberini  with  pictures  that  you  would 
like  to  see  every  day  in  the  year.     But  of  all  the 


*  If  architecture  is  a  species  of  writing,  what  must  we  think  of 
the  disparity  between  the  genius  that  produced  the  Pantheon  and 
that  which  designed  the  fat^ade  of  St.  Peter's?  The  worship  of  the 
gods  has  long  ago  passed,  and  with  some  of  us  the  worship  of  the 
saints,  but  there  is  one  altar  in  the  Pantheon  at  which  we  all  offer 
our  homage  ;  it  is  a  simple  tablet  over  the  ashes  of  Raphael,  whose 
life  you  feel  in  Rome  more  than  that  of  thousands  you  see,  and  yet, 
as  this  tablet  tells  you,  he  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-severl :  what  a 
glorious  immortality  he  achieved  in  this  brief  period  !  The  veneration 
of  the  man  who  never  heard  the  name  of  Raphael  without  touching 
his  batj  does  not  seem  exaggerated  to  one  who  has  been  to  Rome. 


220  ROME. 

churches  in  Rome,  and  I  assure  you  I  have  visited  the 
most  renowned  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five, 
not  one  among  them,  I  hesitate  as  I  except  St.  Peter's, 
has  given  me  more  dehghtful  sensations  than  Santa 
Maria  degU  Angeh.  It  is  built  after  a  design  of 
Michael  Angelo  on  the  ruins  of  Diocletian's  baths. 
The  roof  is  supported  by  huge  granite  columns  which 
stood  in  Diocletian's  hall.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a 
Greek  cross,  and  when  you  enter  the  harmony  of  its 
perfect  proportions  affects  you  as  if  a  strain  of  music 
burst  from  the  walls.* 

If  you  do  not  care  for  art,  or  if  you  are  tired  of 
pictures  and  statuary,  you  may  visit  the  churches  for 
their  curiosities.  Through  one  you  go  down  into  the 
Mamertine  prisons,  one  of  the  few  remaining  works 
of  the  republic,  where  Catiline's  conspirators  were 
imprisoned,  Jugurtha  was  starved  to  death,  and  St. 
Peter  miraculously  set  free ;  or  you  may  dive  into 
the  subterranean  church  where  Constantine  held  his 
councils,  or  see  in  old  St.  Clement's  the  model  of  all 
churches,  or  at  St.  Pietro  in  Vincolo  the  very  chain 
with  which  St.  Peter  was  bound.  In  short,  my  dear 
C,  a  thorough  examination  of  the  Roman  churches 
"would  be  quite  work  enough  for  one  lifetime ;  do 
not  imagine  that  I  flatter  myself  I  have  given  you 
any  notion  of  them  in  this  brief  and  flippant  notice.f 

*  There  is  no  exaggeration  in  this.  I  suppose  that  the  ingenious  the- 
orist who  resolved  music  into  mathematics  could  give  a  satisfactory 
explanation  of  my  simple  fact, 

t  I  am  aware  it  requires  an  art  which  I  do  not  possess  to  make 
this  subject  interesting,  and  therefore  I  have  condensed  pages  into  a 
few  paragraphs.    I  walked  these  splendid  edifices  daily  with  the  en- 


JOURNEY    TO    VALLETRI.  221 

Valletri,  February  13. 

We  have  left  Rome,  my  dear  C,  and  left  it,  after 
a  sojourn  of  but  two  months,  with  the  fond  feeling 
of  lovers.  Now^here  do  you  get  such  an  attachment 
to  material  objects  ;  —  the  living  are  dead  here, 
'but  the  dead  are  living.  I  looked  mournfully  round 
for  the  last  time  on  our  sunny  rooms,  and  out  upon 
our  pleasant  garden,  wdth  its  ripening  oranges,  ever- 
blooming  roses,  and  singing  birds.  We  have  the 
pleasant  sadness,  too,  of  leaving  friends  at  Rome.* 
N.,  our  landlord,  was  unfeignedly  sorry  to  part  with 
us ;  madame  wept,  and  dear  little  Enrico  could  not 
speak  "  because  the  signore  were  going  away !" 
I  would  find  a  better  reason  for  my  tears,  as  we 
drove  on  to  the  Appian  Way,  than  the  fear  that  we 
were  looking  for  the  last  time  upon  the  tortuous 
old  walls  of  Rome,  on  the  towers,  domes,  columns, 
and  all  the  gray  city  surrounded  with  an  atmosphere 
that  the  mind's  eye  fills  with  "  milHons  of  spirits." 

You  cannot  imagine,  dear  C,  for  we  have  nothing 
bearing  the  most  distant  resemblance  to  it,  the  sol- 

thusiasm,  if  not  the  devotion  of  a  pilgrim.  The  limits  of  my  book  are 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  I  am  obliged  to  omit  our  excursion  to  Tivoli 
and  Frescati,  which  occupied  the  last  days  of  our  first  visit  to  Rome. 
The  memory  of  my  delightful  visit  to  Frescati,  and  the  remains  of 
Cicero's  Tusculan  Villa,  his  "  eyes  of  Italy,"  blends  with  the  better 
memory  of  the  English  friend  to  whose  zealous  kindness  I  owed  this 
pleasure. 

*  I  should  be  ungrateful  not  to  specify  among  these  friends  our 
consul,  Mr.  Greene,  who  so  honourably  represents  his  country  at 
Rome.  Though  withheld,  by  assiduous  devotion  to  literary  pursuits, 
from  general  and  useless  attentions  to  his  countrymen,  his  kindness, 
when  needed,  is  prompt,  unmeasured,  and  effective. 

T2 


222  JOURNEY     TO     VALLETRI. 

emn  solitude  of  the  drive  across  the  Campagna  from 
Rome  to  the  Alban  Hills,  a  distance  of  twelve  miles. 
There  are  remains  of  tombs  and  broken  lines  of 
aqueducts  (most  beautiful  ruins  they  make)  on  each 
side ;  but  scarcely  an  indication  of  the  presence  of 
man,  scarcely  the  note  of  a  bird  or  the  sound  of  an 
animal  to  break  the  eloquent  silence.  Could  this 
have  been  a  solitary  drive  in  Cicero's  time  ?  he  al- 
ludes to  the  danger  of  robbery  in  going  from  Rome 
to  Albano  in  broad  daylight. 

As  we  began  the  ascent  of  the  Alban  Mount  the 
aspect  of  the  country  changed.  The  declivities  of 
the  hills  are  covered  with  ilexes  and  olives.  Instead 
of  going  into  the  hotel,  K.,  L.,  and  myself  took  a 
guide,  and  went  off  a  mile  and  a  half  through  a 
galleria,  or  imbowered  walk,  to  the  Alban  Lake  ;  a 
crater  lake,  deep  sunk  within  high  surrounding  hills, 
which  K — n,  with  his  usual  aptness,  compared  to  a 
teaspoonful  of  tea  left  in  the  bottom  of  a  teacup. 
At  the  end  of  the  o-a//erza  we  came  upon  a  village 
terminated  by  an  ugly  summer-palace  of  the  pope. 
The  peasants,  whose  dwellings  are  nested  in  the 
nooks  and  angles  of  an  old  fortress,  were  all  in  the 
street ;  the  old  women,  with  their  distaffs  and  spin- 
dles, walking  and  spinning,  and  looking  as  fit  to 
spin  an  evil  destiny  as  Michael  Angelo's  Fates, 
though,  like  the  young  girls,  they  were  dressed  in 
short-gowns  of  a  brilliant  red,  and  head-gear  of  the 
same  colour.  Men  and  children  w^ere  sitting  in  the 
doorways  pursuing  the  pleasures  of  the  chase — heads 
their  hunting-ground  !     Young  children  were  teach- 


JOURNEY    TO    VALLETRI.  223 

ing  younger  ones  in  leading-strings  to  walk,*  and 
there  was  the  usual  quota  of  blind,  lame,  and  sick 
beggars.  You  will  scarcely  believe  me,  but  it  is 
true  that,  in  a  progress  of  a  hundred  miles  through 
New-England  villages,  T  have  not  seen  so  much 
beauty  as  I  saw  this  morning.  The  peasants  of  Ti- 
voli,  of  Frescati,  and  of  Albano  are  beautiful ;  and  I 
could  scarcely  turn  my  eye  from  these  last  to  look 
to  the  Alban  Mount  towering  up  into  the  clouds, 
where  our  guide  pointed  out  a  monastery  standing 
on  the  site  of  the  temple  of  the  Latian  Jove.  That 
has  passed  away;  but  the  Via  Triumphalis,  by 
which  the  Roman  generals  approached  it  for  their 
ovations,  and  the  Roman  emperors  for  their  sacrifi- 
ces, still  exists.  There  are  moments  in  this  Old 
World,  and  this  on  the  secluded  Alban  Lake  was 
one  of  them,  when  the 

"  Strong  barriers  round  thy  dark  domain, 
Thou  unrelenting  Past !" 

disappear,  and  the  long-gone  generations  rise  be- 
fore you  in  all  their  pomp  and  sacred  offices. 

But  we  were  soon  recalled  to  actual  life  by  our 
cicerone,  who,  like  all  his  countrymen  in  sunshine, 
with  plenty  of  antichite  to  show,  and  a  good  fee  in 
view,  was  in  a  high  state  of  excitement.  Fancy  one 
of  our  common  labourers  striking  his  breast,  casting 
up  his  eyes,  and  exclaiming, "  Dio  Mio — bella  gior- 
nata — bellissima  giornata,  eccellenza  !  ah !  da  pia- 

*  This  nnode  of  learning  to  walk,  a  nursery  tale  with  us,  is  uni- 
versal in  Italy. 


224  VALLETRI. 

cere  anche  la  vita  !"*  And  then  he  poured  out 
such  compliments  on  the  girls,  calling  them  "  Belle ! 
belle !  belle  assai !"  for  which  pleasing  improvisation 
K.  insists  he  charged  two  pauls  extra,  and  that  the 
next  lady  he  conducts  will  find  herself  perfectly  an- 
gelic. 

In  our  way  we  passed  the  ruins  of  Domitian's 
villa  and  the  place  where  was  the  Emissario,  an 
outlet  for  the  lake  cut  through  the  mountains  in 
obedience  to  an  oracle.f 

We  found  R.  and  E.  sitting  out  on  a  terrace  that 
overlooked  a  lovely  garden.  Here  they  had  taken 
their  lunch  and  remained  for  two  hours.  Is  not  this 
a  blessed  country  for  invalids  1 


Three  miles  from  Albano  we  overtook  our  in- 
amorato, who  had  jogged  ahead  on  a  donkey,  to 
have  the  privilege  of  escorting  us  to  the  Lake  of 
Nemi,  called  by  the  ancients  Speculum  Diance. 

"■  Mirror  of  Dian  !  aptly  named  by  those 
Who  dwelt  near  Nemi's  wooded  wave." 

We  saw  nothing  but  a  solitary  beggar,  and  some 
cows  grazing  where  Diana  had  a  temple  and  Egeria 
her  favourite  haunt,  and  where  goddesses  and 
nymphs  might,  indeed,  love  to  dwell!  I  am  now 
sitting  at  Velletri  looking  from  a  very  pleasant  win- 

*  "My  God— your  excellency!  what  a  beautiful !  most  beautiful 
day  1  life  alone  is  a  pleasure  !" 

t  "  This  great  work,"  Eustace  says,  "  was  done  in  the  year  of 
Rome  358,  to  prevent  the  sudden  and  mischievous  swells  of  the 
lake,  which  had  then  recently  occasioned  considerable  alarm." 


TORRE     TREPONTI.  225 

dow  at  the  sun  as  he  drops  his  urn  into  the  Mediter- 
ranean, which  has  appeared  in  the  distance,  for  the 
last  hour,  like  a  sheet  of  molten  gold. 


TORRE    TREPONTI. 

After  winding  down  the  Alban  Hills  this  morn- 
ing we  soon  came  on  to  the  Pontine  marshes,  for- 
merly so  fatal  and  now  pestilential  during  the  hot 
months.  They  are  twenty-four  miles  in  length,  and 
from  six  to  twelve  in  breadth.  The  draining  of  them 
was  carried  on  by  the  Csesars,  by  the  popes,  and  by 
the  Medici,  and  to  its  present  state  by  Pius  VI.,  who 
rebuilt  the  former  Appian  Way  and  made  it  what 
it  now  is,  one  of  the  best  roads  in  Europe. 

This  is  supposed  to  be  the  place  spoken  of  by  St. 
Paul  as  Forum  Appia,  and  this,  say  the  authorities, 
was  Horace's  second  resting-place  on  his  journey 
to  Brundusium.  I  trust  they  found  the  elements 
as  kind  as  we  do.  Our  carriage  is  drawn  up  on 
the  turf  while  our  horses  are  taking  their  meridi- 
an ;  and  as  the  inn  is  a  secularized  old  convent,  most 
uninviting,  we  prefer  remaining  out  of  doors.  R. 
is  taking  his  siesta  in  the  carriage,  E.  is  at  her 
worsted-work,  K.  reading  aloud  the  "  Morals  of  a 
Soldier"  from  a  book  given  her  by  a  ci-devant  Ital- 
ian militaire,  and  L.  is  hazing  about  with  an  ivy 
wreath  on  her  bonnet,  and  the  fresh  flowers  tucked 
on  one  side  which  our  handsome  cameriero  put  on 
our  breakfast  table  as  a  signal  of  the  primavera. 
The  wide,  green  level  land  on  each  side  of  us  is 


226  T  E  R  R  A  C  I  N  A. 

broken  only  by  canals  and  stagnant  water,  and  cov- 
ered with  herds  of  buffaloes  and  beeves,  flocks  of 
sheep  and  droves  of  horses ;  a  long,  level  horizon 
bounds  the  view  on  the  Mediterranean  side,  and  on 
the  east,  beyond  the  morass,  are  steep  and  rugged 
mountains.  Tw^o  or  three  miserable  villages  are  vis- 
ible on  their  acclivities.  At  Sezza  there  stood  once 
a  temple  to  Saturn  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet  high. 
Before  and  behind,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  stretches 
the  road,  completely  imbowered  and  looking  like  a 
beautiful  avenue.  Beside  the  inn  there  is  another 
dw^elhng  for  human  beings,  a  thing  made  of  sticks 
and  straw.  I  walked  past  it  and  looked  in ;  rag- 
ged wTetches,  blighted  with  want  and  malaria,  were 
playing  cards ;  like  lean  and  sallow  creatures  are 
sauntering  up  and  down  before  our  carriage  staring 
at  us;  gens  d'armes  are  standing  at  the  inn  door, 
and  two  healthy-looking  little  boys  are  sitting  on  the 
step  devouring  a  crust  of  bread — oh  youth  and  na- 
ture, how  potent  are  ye ! 


Terracina. — We  are  again  on  the  seashore;  the 
"waves  are  breaking  as  softly  under  my  window  as 
the  ripple  of  a  lake.  The  fishing  boats  are  drawn 
up  on  the  shore,  and  the  nets  are  drying.  So  a  sea- 
shore might  have  appeared  in  the  patriarchal  stage 
of  society;  and  here  was  an  important  town  of  the 
Volsci,  an  independent  nation !  and  here,  on  the 
very  spot  w^here  the  little  boats  seem  sleeping  in  the 
moonlight,  were  once  the  ships  of  an  important  naval 


TERRACINA.  227 

station !  On  the  land-side  of  our  inn  is  a  most  cu- 
rious pile  of  stone  of  Nature's  masonry,  and  a  little 
back  from  the  summit  are  some  regular  stone  arches, 
the  remains  of  a  palace  of  Theodoric  or  a  temple  of 
Hercules.  We  clambered  up  a  street  almost  per- 
pendicular, to  see  the  Cathedral  built  on  the  ruins  of 
a  temple  of  Apollo,  but  we  were  frightened  by  the 
ragged,  ruffianly-looking  wretches  in  the  piazza ; 
and,  without  seeing  the  consecrated  pillars,  we  came 
down  again  au galop* 

*  We  are  happily  so  constituted  that  the  minor  miseries  of  life  are 
forgotten  as  soon  as  past,  and,  therefore,  never  but  at  the  moment, 
and  by  the  susceptible  traveller,  can  the  misery  inflicted  by  the  fleas 
in  Italy  be  estimated.  Ours  was  at  its  acme  at  Terracina,  where, 
during  a  wretched  night,  I  never  closed  my  eyes.  We  kept  for  some 
days  a  list  of  the  killed ;  of  fugitives,  of  course  no  account  could  be 
made.  On  one  day  they  amounted  to  twenty-five;  on  the  next  to 
thirty ;  and,  finally,  the  amount  ran  up  to  a  hundred,  when  we  desist- 
ed !  If  it  be  remembered  that  even  one  of  these  most  subtle  little 
beasts  of  the  field  can  make  his  victim  perfectly  wretched,  it  cannot  be 
wondered  at  if  sometimes,  amid  the  softest  airs  of  Italy,  some  of  our 
party  longed  for  the  cold  winds  and  hilling  frosts  of  their  own  coun- 
try. Lest  a  delicate  reader  should  be  shocked  at  the  introduction 
of  this  topic  into  a  lady's  journal,  I  must  be  allowed  to  say  that  it  is 
a  very  common  one  among  the  most  refined  of  the  suffering  trav- 
ellers in  Italy  ;  that  I  have  heard  it  discussed  for  half  an  evening  in 
a  society  of  lords  and  ladies,  where,  on  one  side,  lavender  was  rec- 
ommended as  a  sovereign  antidote,  and  on  the  other  it  was  main- 
tained that  the  essential  oils  only  occasioned  the  Uttle  wretches  to 
faint,  or  feign  faintmg  !  "  Fleas"  make  a  distinct  article  in  the  guide- 
books, and  fleas  are  the  subject  of  the  fine  arts.  In  one  of  the  gal- 
leries of  Rome  there  is  a  picture  of  a  pretty  young  woman  with  a 
basin  of  water,  most  intently  engaged  in  finding  victims  for  her 
noyade. 


228  mola  di  oal'ta. 

My  dear  C, 

Mola  di  Gaeta. — Would  that  I  could  surround  you 
with  the  odorous,  balmy  atmosphere  of  this  most  de- 
licious place,  and  transport  you  to  its  orange-bow- 
ers !  but  since  that  cannot  be,  pray,  the  next  time  you 
pass  my  bookcase,  take  down  a  certain  yellow-cover- 
ed book,  "Kenyon's  Poems,"  and  read  the  few  last 
lines  of  "  moonlight,"  and  you  will  find  the  poet  do- 
ing for  you  what  I  cannot.  This  morning,  six  miles 
on  this  side  Terracina,  at  a  huge  gate  between  two 
stone  towers,  we  passed  from  the  Roman  States  into 
the  Neapolitan  territory.  You  have  had  something 
too  much  of  this,  or  I  would  describe  to  you  the  mob 
of  beggars  that  surrounded  us  at  Fondi.  We  needed 
to  have  been  "  Principesse,"  as  they  called  us,  to 
have  afforded  relief  to  such  numbers.  Just  in  pro- 
portion as  we  advance  south  the  poverty  increases. 
Shoes  are  becoming  a  rare  luxury,  and,  as  Francois 
says,  "  he  is  accounted  a  rich  man  who  wears  them." 
In  their  place  they  wear  leather  soles  fastened  on 
with  cords  that  are  wound  around  their  legs.  The 
working  people  wear  a  cotton  shirt  and  drawers  ex- 
tending a  little  below  the  knee — the  shirt  is  a  win- 
ter garment.  We  have  seen  children  to-day  with 
nothing  on  but  thin,  short,  ragged  cotton  drawers! 

A  mile  and  a  half  before  we  reached  Mola  we 
passed  the  very  spot  where,  as  it  is  believed,  Cicero 
was  killed,  and  within  a  vineyard  a  few  yards  from 
the  road  is  a  cenotaph  erected  to  his  memory.*     It  is 

,*  It  is  better  to  look  at  these  places,  and,  I  think,  even  to  hear  of 


MOLA    DI    GAETA.  229 

three  stories  high  and  circular,  and  encloses  a  column 
of  the  height  of  the  edifice.  The  stones  and  bricks 
are  bare  and  mouldering.  The  marbles  that  incrust- 
ed  them  have  given  place  to  a  mantling  of  ivy, 
roses,  and  laurustines,  whose  rich  breath  incenses 
the  dearest  name  of  all  Roman  antiquity. 

Our  inn  has  the  loveliest  position  I  have  seen  in 
Italy.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  a  large  garden,  or,  rath- 
er, of  orange  and  lemon  groves.  For  the  first  time 
in  our  lives  we  have  seen  to-day  these  tropical  fruit- 
trees  in  perfection,  as  spreading  (not  as  high)  as  an 
apple-tree  and  bending  under  the  weight  of  their 
fruit.  The  gardens  are  in  the  recess  of  a  crescent 
bay,  and  fill  with  their  terraces  the  interval  be- 
tween the  last  slopes  of  bare,  rugged  mountains 
and  the  sea.  These  slopes  are  covered  with  vines 
and  olives,  and  through  some  openings  in  our  or- 
ange-bowers we  get  ghmpses  of  a  narrow,  gray  vil- 
lage pent  in  between  us  and  the  hillside.  Our  inn 
and  garden,  formerly  the  villa  of  an  Italian  prince, 
are  supposed  to  cover  the  site  of  Cicero's  Formian 
Villa,  and  upon  the  strength  of  that  supposition 
bears  the  attractive  name  of  La  Villa  di  Cicerone. 
We  have  been  down  to  the  shore  and  seen  the  found- 
ations of  edifices,  and  subterranean  arches  and  col- 
umns, that  indicate  Roman  magnificence.  We  wan- 
dered about  till  the  twilight  deepened  upon  us  with 
nothing  to  remind  us  that  we  were  not  in  Paradise 

them,  without  recurring  to  the  doubts  in  which  the  uncertainty  of 
tradition  necessarily  invests  them.  Let  the  antiquaries  dispute  and 
the  learned  doubt,  we,  the  unlearned,  will  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  be- 
lie vin  jr. 

Vol.  II.— U 


230  MOLA     DI     GAETA. 

till,  on  retracing  our  way  to  the  inn,  we  heard  a 
yell  after  us  of  "  Signore  I  signore !  Qualche  cosa 
per  il  giardiniere  !"  (•'*  Ladies  !  ladies !  give  some- 
thing to  the  gardener !")  and,  turning,  we  perceived  a 
tall,  swarthy  fellow,  in  Neapolitan  imdress,  pursuing 
us  for  his  tax  on  the  sweet  air  we  had  breathed. 

I  have  never  enjoyed  anything  so  perfect,  of  its 
kind,  as  the  quiet  Sunday  we  have  been  passing  at 
Mola  di  Gaeta.  We  left  it  just  at  evening,  and 
drove  from  our  orange-bowers  into  the  very  narrow 
street  of  the  village,  so  charming  seen  through  our 
garden  vistas.  It  being  Sunday,  the  people  were,  of 
course,  in  their  festa-dresses — such  as  had  them — and 
they  were  like  a  swarm  of  bees  in  that  narrow 
street ;  standing,  leaning,  lying,  sitting,  it  seemed 
next  to  impossible  that  our  carriage  should  find  a 
passage  through  them  ;  and  such  a  mingled  shout 
of  begging  and  salutation  assailed  us,  some  hands 
stretched  out  for  "  carita,  per  I'amor  di  Dio !"  and 
others  to  give  us  the  graceful  Italian  greeting.  At 
the  end  of  the  street  a  troop  of  masqueraders  gath- 
ered about  us,  playing  their  antics,  to  the  infinite  di- 
version— of  the  boys  and  girls,  I  would  have  said  5 
but  all  were  merry  as  merriest  childhood. 

My  dear  C,  let  us  be  thankful  for  the  system  of 
compensation  that  makes  their  dehcious  sunshine 
not  only  meat,  drink,  and  clothing  to  these  children 
of  the  South,  but  a  fountain  of  ever-springing  cheer- 
fulness ! 

The  scene  has  changed.  We  are  at  St.  Agata, 
at  a  dirty  inn.     Our  philosopher,  Fran9ois,  laughs  at 


NAPLES.  231 

our  fallen  mercury,  and  says,  "  So  it  always  is  in  life. 
You  had  the  good  at  Mola,  you  must  expect  the  bad 
at  St.  Agata!"  Unworthy  wretches  that  we  are! 
The  Padrone  has  just  sent  us  up  a  letter  from  W., 
announcing  that  he  and  K — n  have  engaged  de- 
lightful lodgings  for  us  at  Naples,  where  Vv^e  hope  to 
be  to-morrow. 


Naples,  February  17. 

My  dear  C, 

After  a  pleasant  drive  through  a  long  stretch  of 
vineyards  and  olive-orchards,  we  arrived  at  the  gate 
of  Naples  at  four  o'clock  P.M.  W.  (our  good  an- 
gel) met  us  at  the  Dogana,  where  we  had  the  tor- 
ment of  a  long  detention. 

We  drove  down  the  long  street  of  the  Toledo ; 
such  swarming  of  human  life  I  never  saw,  nor 
heard  such  clamour ;  it  was  as  if  all  the  Bedlamites 
on  earth  had  been  let  loose  upon  it.  Broadway  is 
a  quiet  solitude  in  comparison  !*     However,  we  for- 

*  I  extract  from  the  journal  of  one  of  my  companions  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  scene  at  the  Dogana,  too  characteristic  of  Naples  to  be 
omitted.  "  We  were  stopped  at  the  custom-house,  and  W.  came 
running  out  to  meet  us.  How  deUghtful  to  be  welcomed  to  this 
strange  place  !  Our  carriage  was  instantly  surrounded  by  beggars, 
who  have  increased  in  numbers  and  importunity  at  every  step  of 
our  way  since  we  entered  the  Neapolitan  dominion.  The  sentinels, 
pointing  their  bayonets  at  them,  gruffly  cried,  'Indietro  !'  ('  Back  !') 
Uncle  R.  and  W.  poked  them  with  their  canes,  and  a  young  officer 
who  just  then  came  up  flourished  his  sword  over  their  heads,  and 
made  them  recede  for  a  moment,  but  they  closed  round  again  in- 
stantly, like  water  that  had  been  disturbed  by  a  pebble.  Such  tatters 
I  never  saw.    It  was  difficult  to  divine  what  kept  them  together. 


232  NAPLES. 

got  its  turmoil  and  every  other  vexation  when  we  en- 
tered our  spacious  drawing-room  at  28  St.  Lucia,  and 
sat  down  by  the  window  to  gaze  upon  the  Bay  of 
JVapleSy  directly  under  us,  without  any  apparent  in- 
terposing object,  for  we  overlook  the  street  between 
us  and  the  water.  The  crescent-like  curve  from  us 
to  the  base  of  Vesuvius  brings  the  mountain  in  front 
of  us.  The  light  smoke  curling  up  from  the  crater 
caught  the  beams  of  the  just  risen  full  moon,  while 
the  mountain  itself  and  Monte  Somma  were  a  dark 
mass  of  shadow.  We  sat  watching  the  little  white 
houses  at  Portici  becoming  distinct  as  one  after  an- 
other caught  the  moonbeams,  and  the  tiny  boats 
which,  with  their  spread  sails,  shot  across  the  path  of 
quivering  beams,  and  then  again  vanished  in  shadow. 
Yes,  we  sat  as  if  spell-bound  till  we  were  roused  by  a 
familiar  voice  asking, "  Is  there  anything  better  than 
this  ?"  "  Nothing,"  we  replied  with  one  voice ;  but 
"  deeds  speak  louder  than  words."  We  turned  away 
from  the  most  beautiful  harmonies  of  nature  to  ex- 
change greetings  with  our  dear  friend  K — n,  to 
whose  actual  presence  they  were,  after  all,  but "  mere 
moonshine." 

We  are  rich  at  Naples :  W.  makes  one  of  our 
family  ;  K — n  is  at  the  Crocella,  almost  within  sha- 
king-hands' distance ;  an  English  lady,  our  acquaint- 
ance, who  is  not  one  of  those  who  "isolent  ieur 

There  were  maimed,  halt,  blind,  and  mutes ;  some  real,  some  feign- 
ed, and  all  as  vexing  as  moschetoes  in  a  walk  in  the  woods  in  sum- 
mer." It  may  well  be  imagined  what  a  hardening  process  we  had 
gone  through  in  our  progress  southward  when  a  young  person  nei- 
ther selfish  nor  stony-hearted  could  thus  describe  such  a  spectacle. 


NAPLES.  233 

cceur  en  cultivant  leur  esprit,"  has  lodgings  over  us ; 
our  Charge,  Mr.  Throop,  is  showering  kindness  on 
us ;  and,  finally,  our  consul,  Mr.  Hammett,  a  man  of 
sterling  qualities  with  twenty  years'  experience  here, 
is  bestowing  upon  us  essential  favours,  the  advantage 
of  his  society  being  that  we  esteem  above  all  the 
rest. 

We  met  here  letters  of  introduction  obtained  by 
C — i  from  exiles  at  Paris  to  distinguished  Neapoli- 
tans. They  are  shy  of  us,  and,  as  w^e  are  told,  com- 
pelled to  be  so  by  the  dastardly  system  of  espionage 
and  persecution  maintained  by  the  king.  General 
Pepe,  the  commander  of  the  Italian  detachment  of 
Napoleon's  Russian  army,  has  been  several  times  to 
see  us.  His  fine  countenance  has  a  most  melan- 
choly expression ;  no  wonder !  he  told  me  that  of 
the  two  regiments  he  led  into  Russia,  the  finest  fel- 
lows in  the  Neapolitan  service,  all,  save  thirty-four, 
perished  in  one  night.  He  lives  in  perfect  retire- 
ment, but  it  is  said  that  in  any  emergency  the  king 
will  be  glad  to  employ  him.* 


One  of  our  daily  pleasures  is  a  walk  in  the  Villa 
Reahy  a  public  promenade-garden  between  the  Chi- 
aia — the  great  street  of  Naples — and  the  bay.  The 
garden  is  about  a  mile  in  length,  well  planted  with 
trees  and  flowering  shrubs,  and  abounding  in  fount- 

*  This  opinion  was  verified.  Before  we  left  Naples  the  alarm  of 
a  rupture  with  England  occurred,  and  General  Pepe  was  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  army. 

V  2 


234  NAPLES. 

ains— the  very  spirit  and  voice  of  this  land  of  the 
South.  The  brightest  flowers  are  the  Enghsh  chil- 
dren who  take  their  daily  recreation  in  the  garden ; 
beautiful  scions  they  are  of  a  noble  stock.  They  show 
themselves  exotics  here  with  their  fair  skins,  ruddy 
cheeks,  blue  eyes,  and  long  flaxen  curls.  No  car- 
riages or  beggars  are  permitted  within  the  garden. 
We  now  and  then  see  a  pretty  costume  diversifying 
the  uniform  fashion  of  the  upper  classes  of  all  coun- 
tries; for  instance,  we  saw  to-day  a  Neapolitan 
nurse  in  a  rich,  dark  blue  skirt  with  a  broad  gold  bor- 
der round  the  bottom,  a  bright  scarlet  jacket  w^ith 
gold  bands  round  the  wrist,  and  a  gold  comb  in  her 
hair,  a  sort  of  human  paroquet.  The  garden  is  em- 
bellished with  statues,  casts  of  our  friends  in  Rome, 
the  Apollo,  Antinous,  and  certain  not  strikingly  mod- 
est groups,  whose  exposure  in  these  public  grounds 
shows  a  remarkable  consistency  in  the  king,  who,  in 
a  fit  of  sudden,  or,  as  K — n  terms  it,  Turkish  prudery, 
has  put  all  the  Venuses  in  his  museum  under  lock  and 
key.  The  unrivalled  charm  of  the  Villa  Reale  is  the 
view  of  the  bay.  The  very  name  of  the  ^^  Bay  of 
JYaples^'  sets  all  your  ideas  of  beauty  in  a  ferment, 
and  so  let  it ;  they  will  create  no  image  approaching 
in  loveliness  to  the  all-surpassing  reality.  Yet,  in  the 
very  face  of  its  blue  waters  and  delicious  atmosphere 
— of  Capri,  lying  like  a  crouching  lion  at  its  mouth — 
of  its  other  amethyst  islands — of  Vesuvius,  with  its 
fresh  fringing  of  yesterday's  snow — our  countryman, 

Mr. ,  maintained  to  me  that  it  was  not  to  be 

compared  to  the  Bay  of  New-York.     "  I  have  at  one 


NAPLES.  235 

time,"  he  said,  "counted  fifty  merchant-ships  there, 
and  what  is  there  here  but  fishing-smacks  ?"  Truly, 
what  is  there  ? 


The  Studii,  or  Royal  Museum  of  Naples,  has,  af- 
ter the  Vatican,  the  richest  collection  of  statuary  in 
the  world.     Unfortunately,  the  rooms  are  dark  and 
noisy ;   one  of  the  thoroughfares  of  noisy  Naples 
passing  by  it.     It  may  be  a  mere  fancy,  but  these 
serene  statues,  with  their  solemn  associations,  seem 
to  me  to  require  an  atmosphere  of  tomb-like  silence. 
Noise  is  discord,  and  a  Neapolitan  street  is  a  con- 
gregation of  discords.     Herculaneum,  Pompeii,  Ca- 
pua, and  all  these  surroundings,  have  yielded  up 
their  treasures  to  fill  this  museum.     Among  them  is 
an  Aristides,  the  finest  statue  in  the  w^orld — in  Ca- 
nova's   judgment.     The   figure   is  enveloped    in   a 
mantle.     There  is  a  conscious  mental  force,  and  a 
beautiful  simplicity,  in  its  quiet,  erect  attitude,  and 
an   expression   of  tranquil,   intellectual  dignity  in 
the  head  and  face,  fitting  the  godlike  character  of 
*'  The  Just."     Strange  as  it  may  seem,  th^e  is  a 
Venus  in  the  collection  (happily  not  locked  up,  pour 
faire  penitence),  who  appears  to  me  to  express  as 
much  moral  strength  as  the  Aristides.     This  is  the 
"  Venus  Vidrix.''^     She  stands  with  her  head  in- 
clining towards  Cupid,  with  a  gentle  reproof  in  her 
air,  and  a  purity  in  her  expression,  as  if  she  were, 
indeed,  o'er  all  the  frailties  of  her  sex  victorious. 
One  of  the  prettiest  groups  is  "  Cupid  sporting  with  a 


236  NAPLES, 

dolphin."  Cupid,  with  a  most  lovely  laughing  face 
and  curly  hair,  has  his  round  arms  wreathed  about 
the  neck  of  a  dolphin,  whose  tail  coiling  around  his 
body,  has  thrust  his  legs  into  the  air.  There  is  in 
this  group  an  expression  of  life  and  frolic  inconceiv- 
able to  one  who  has  not  seen  in  the  antiques  how 
art  subdues  matter,  converting  marble  into  the  image 
of  God's  creations.  If  this  exquisite  whim  of  art, 
instead  of  being  housed  in  a  sunless  room,  stood,  as 
it  was  designed  to  stand,  in  the  midst  of  a  fountain, 
in  the  odorous  atmosphere  of  an  orange  grove,  with 
lights  and  shadows  playing  over  it,  its  effect  would 
be  magical. 

Not  one  of  the  masterpieces  here,  but  a  curiosity, 
certainly,  is  an  Ephesian  Diana,  a  most  elaborate 
piece  of  workmanship.  The  head  and  hands  are  of 
black  marble,  highly  finished,  the  body  is  enclosed, 
mummy-like,  in  an  alabaster  case,  upon  w^hich  is 
carved  heads  of  animals  and  other  ornaments.  This 
image,  as  W.  suggested,  explains  the  opposition  of 
the  artificers  of  Ephesus  to  the  faith  which  was  to 
put  an  end  to  their  profitable  labour.  We  found 
ourselves,  day  after  day,  leaving  halls  filled  wath 
busts,  statues,  and  groups,  to  stand  before  a  mutila- 
ted thing — the  mere  fragment  of  a  statue.  The 
arms  are  gone,  and  the  lower  part  of  the  body,  the 
back  and  top  of  the  head  are  shaved  off;  nothing 
remains  perfect  but  the  face  and  neck.  It  is  called 
a  Psyche,  and  is  truly  the  type  of  the  soul.  It  is 
the  perfection  of  spiritual  beauty  and  grace.  There 
is  something  in  the  hang  of  the  head,  and  a  touch 


NAPLES.  237 

of  sadness  in  the  expression,  that  reminded  K.  of 
the  angel  in  Retzsch's  game  of  chess ;  but  the  face 
appeared  to  me  far  more  powerful  and  compre- 
hensive. 

If  I  had  to  answer  all  the  libels  of  the  scoffers  at 
my  sex,  or  to  defend  the  "  rights  of  women,"  I 
would  appeal  to  this  Psyche,  to  Raphael's  Sibyls,  to 
Dante's  Beatrice,  and  to  Shakspeare's  Portia,  Isa- 
bella, and  Desdemona,  to  show  what  the  inspired 
teachers  of  the  world  have  believed  of  our  faculties 
and  virtues. 

The  bronzes  in  one  apartment  of  the  museum  are 
said  to  be  the  finest  in  the  world.  They  were  anteri- 
or to  sculpture  in  marble.  Among  them  is  a  life-hke 
bust  of  Seneca,  with  sharp  features,  sunken  cheeks, 
straight,  matted  locks,  and  his  neck  eagerly  stretched 
forward  as  if  on  the  point  of  speaking ;  and  there 
are  exquisite  Mercuries,  Fauns,  and  Amazons.  One 
among  a  long  suite  of  rooms  is  devoted  to  paintings, 
and  one  alone  contains  some  of  the  best  treasures  of 
art;  a  Magdalen  by  Guercino,  which  is  only  less  pow- 
erful than  Titian's,  and  less  tender  than  Guide's. 
There  is  a  masterpiece  of  Dominichino's  :  a  boy 
four  or  five  years  old  in  a  blue  kirtle  is  standing 
with  his  hands  folded  in  prayer.  The  "  man  of  sin"  is 
crouching  at  his  feet ;  and  though  the  child  does  not 
see  him,  he  betrays  a  consciousness  of  the  presence  of 
evil  and  a  feeling  of  weakness  and  danger.  Behind 
him  stands  a  beautiful  young  angel  in  all  the  repose  of 
security,  pointing  to  a  glory  above,  and  interposing 
his  shielding  wing  between  the  devil  and  the  boy. 


238  NAPLES. 

The  Carnival  at  Naples  is  inferior  in  gayety  and 
excess  to  that  of  Rome ;  but  it  is  said  to  be  only 
second  to  that.  It  is  generally  remarked  that  its  in- 
terest is  dying  away  from  year  to  year.  Those  who 
think  its  amusements  were  only  suited  to  an  age 
when  men  could  neither  read  nor  write,  impute  this 
to  the  "  march  of  mind,"  which  does  march,  though 
much  in  snail  fashion,  even  here.  Others  maintain 
that  all  thinking  people  feel  so  deeply  the  oppression 
and  misery  of  their  condition  that  they  have  little 
heart  for  amusements  of  any  kind.  Such  as  it  is, 
and  so  much  (or  rather  so  little)  as  ladies  could  see 
of  it  we  have  seen,  and  childish  sport  enough  you 
will  think  it. 

During  the  carnival  the  corso,  which  is  a  course 
of  carriages  through  the  Toledo,  the  main  street  of 
Naples,  occurs  twice  every  week.  We  joined  in 
it  to-day ;  Mr.  T.  took  a  portion  of  our  party  in 
his  carriage,  and  the  rest  followed  in  our  own.  Mr. 
T.'s  carriage  was  furnished  with  baskets  of  sugar- 
plums and  bouquets  of  flowers,  as  his  station  here 
compels  him  to  be,  in  some  sort,  a  participator  in  the 
frolic.  We  soon  entered  the  Toledo,  and  took  a 
place  in  the  line  of  coaches.  The  street  was  a 
dense  mass  of  human  beings,  with  just  space  enough 
for  the  ascending  and  descending  lines  of  carriages, 
and  the  windows  and  balconies  of  the  houses  to  the 
fifth  and  sixth  stories  were  crowded.  Guards  on 
horseback,  looking  like  equestrian  statues,  were  sta- 
tioned at  short  intervals,  and  made  conspicuous  by 


NAPLES.  239 

the  red  flag  which  they  held.  The  king-  and  roy- 
al family  were  out.  His  majesty,  with  some  twen- 
ty gentlemen,  was  in  an  ornamented  car  drawn  by 
six  horses.  The  king  wore  no  badge  of  distinc- 
tion ;  they  were  all  dressed  in  gay  dominos  and  vel- 
vet caps  with  white  plumes,  and  all  wore  masks. 
The  ladies  of  the  court  were  in  a  similar  car,  and 
dressed  in  a  like  fashion.  Both  cars  were  furnished 
with  sacks  containing  bushels  of  sugarplums  made 
of  lime  with  a  thin  coating  of  sugar.  These  are 
scooped  up  and  showered  around.  The  great  con- 
test is  who  shall  throw^  most,  and  most  dexterously. 
Bouquets  of  flowers  are  thrown  about;  our  girls 
had  their  laps  filled  with  them.  Of  course  an  ac- 
quaintance, a  quaint  masker,  or  a  pretty  woman  is 
the  favourite  aim.  When  the  royal  cars  meet  they 
stop,  the  carriages  of  both  lines  halt  behind  them, 
and  a  general  guerre  a  mort  ensues.  You  are  not 
absolutely  killed,  but  "  kilt"  grievously.  The  mis- 
siles are  as  large  as  very  large  gooseberries.  The 
face  is  protected  by  a  mask  of  wire.  Our  defence- 
less hands  were  sadly  bruised ;  mine  are  yet  black 
and  blue.  Some  carriages  were  protected  by  cloth 
curtains,  but  in  general  they  merrily  took  as  well  as 
gave.  Showers  fell  from  the  balconies,  and  the  poor 
WTctches  in  the  street  scrambled  for  them.  In  by- 
gone times  the  royal  cars  dispensed  veritable  sugar- 
plums ;  but  even  this  grace  has  ceased.  The  novelty 
amused  us  for  two  or  three  hours,  but  I  think  we 
should  all  rather  play  hunt  the  slipper  at  home  than 
to  go  again  to  the  corso.* 

*  We  were,  however,  a  few  days  after  involuntary  partakers,  or, 


240  NAPLES. 

The  Carnival  concludes  with  a  masked  ball  at 
San  Carlo,  the  largest  theatre  in  Italy.  It  begins  at 
12  o'clock  on  Sunday  night.  I  was  over-persuaded 
to  go  by  our  kind  friend  Mr.  T.,  and  K — n's  sugges- 
tion that  "  it  is  best  to  see  things,  that  you  may  sub- 
stitute an  idea  for  a  word."  But  as  you,  dear  C, 
can  have  only  the  words,  I  shall  make  them  as  few 
as  possible.  The  theatre  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and 
viewed  from  the  depth  of  the  stage  was  a  splendid 
spectacle.  The  tallest  grenadiers  in  the  king's  ser- 
vice were  planted  like  beacons  about  the  house. 
The  royal  family  were  in  their  box,  and  the  king 
came  do\\Ti  and  mingled  with  the  crowd.  He  is  a 
tall,  stout,  burley,  yeoman-like  looking  man.  I  ob- 
served, as  he  stopped  for  a  few  moments  near  our 
box,  that  he  excited  little  attention,  and  was  as  much 
jostled  and  pushed  as  his  subjects.  The  dancing 
was  confined  to  the  harlequins,  and  was  a  mere 
romp.  There  were  few  maskers,  and  these  few  sup- 
ported no  characters,  and  merely  walked  up  and 
down,  uttering  commonplaces  in  feigned  voices. 
There  was  an  excessively  pretty  young  woman  in 
the  box  next  to  us  who  attracted  general  attention, 
and  it  was  to  join  the  starers  at  her  that  the  king 

rather,  victims  of  this  sport.  We  had  forgotten  the  carnival,  and 
having  spent  the  morning  at  the  Studii,  were  walking  home  through 
the  Toledo,  when  all  at  once  we  perceived  the  guards  taking  their  sta- 
tions previous  to  the  corso  beginning.  The  balconies  were  filling. 
We  were  the  only  ladies  in  the  street,  and,  consequently,  rather  con- 
spicuous, and  mercilessly  were  we  pelted  as  we  ran  our  gauntlet 
homeward. 


NAPLES.  241 

had  stopped  near  us.  She  was  the  sister  of  a  lady 
whose  beauty  had  captivated  a  brother  of  the  king. 
The  lady's  husband  was  assassinated  a  few  days  be- 
fore the  carnival,  and  the  royal  lover  went  off  the 
next  day  to  Fiorence— ;/c)r  his  health  I 

Save  the  little  excitement  occasioned  by  our  pret- 
ty neighbour's  presence,  and  the  impertinences  ad- 
dressed to  her  by  the  maskers,  the  ball  was  a  heavy 
affair.  The  carnival  has  had  its  day.  Men  can  re- 
main children  a  great  while,  but  not  forever. 


Mr.  Throop  procured  us  invitations  to  the  court- 
ball,*  and  last  evening  we  went.  The  mere  forms 
of  society  are  much  alike  all  over  the  civihzed 
Avorld.  The  ball  (with  rather  more  space  to  move 
in,  for  there  were  fifteen  or  twenty  rooms  of  the  pal- 
ace open)  was  conducted  much  like  one  of  our  balls. 
Nothing  struck  me  about  the  Neapolitan  women  but 
the  vacuity  of  their  faces,  and  the  abundance  and 
brilliancy  of  their  diamonds.  The  Italian  princes 
retain  their  diamonds,  as  they  do  their  pictures,  when 
every  other  sign  of  wealth  is  gone.  The  queen, 
who  looks  like  a  quiet  body,  designed  by  nature  to 
nurse  babies  and  keep  the  house  tidy,  sat  with  the 
court-ladies  at  one  end  of  the  dancing-room,  and 
rose  once  to  make  a  progress  through  the  apart- 
ments.    The  royal  family  supped  by  themselves. 

*  This  was  not  one  of  the  balls  of  the  Academia  Reale^  which  are 
given  weekly  by  a  company  of  whom  the  king  is  one,  and  to  which 
foreigners  are  liberally  admitted  upon  the  application  of  their  repre- 
sentative. 

Vol.  IL— X 


242  NAPLES. 

Several  tables  were  spread  for  the  guests.  Besides 
the  knickknacks  of  our  evening  entertainments  there 
were  fish,  oysters,  and  game,  and  on  each  table  an 
entire  wild-boar,  stuck  with  silver  arrows.*  The 
ladies  gathered  hungrily  about  the  tables  and  ate 
like  good  trencher-women. 

We  retired  after  supper  to  an  adjoining  room,  and 
sat  down  in  a  most  liberty-equality  style  near  a  co- 
terie of  ladies,  who  put  up  their  eye-glasses  and  stared 
at  us,  but  without  any  other  uncivil  demonstration. 

We  soon  perceived  they  were  the  ladies  of  the 
court,  and  they  no  doubt  forgave  us  on  the  flattering 
ground  of  our  being  North  American  savages. 


Nothing  can  exceed  the  fertility  of  the  soil  about 
Naples.  The  crops  on  the  best  ground  are  each 
season  as  follows :  pears  and  apples,  grapes,  two 
harvests  of  Indian  corn  and  one  of  wheat,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  season  a  crop  of  turnips  or  some 
other  vegetable.  But  what  avails  it  to  the  multitu- 
dinous swarms  who  go  hungry  every  day  ?  A  man 
who  can  get  work  earns  only,  by  the  hardest  labour 
in  summer,  sixteen  cents  a  day,  and  he  pays  a  tax 
of  three  dollars  for  every  bushel  of  salt  he  con- 
sumes.f     He  is  forbidden  to  use  the  salt  water  that 

*  Of  course  it  was  merely  a  stuffed  boar's  skin.  A  boar-hunt  in 
the  royal  preserves  near  Naples  is  a  favourite  royal  amusement,  and 
is  attended  by  ladies.  On  one  bright  morning,  while  we  were  there, 
the  queen  killed,  with  her  own  fair  hand,  seventeen  boars— a  femi- 
nine sylvan  sport ! 

t  The  price  of  salt  is  very  low,  some  few  cents  a  bushel. 


NAPLES.  243 

"washes  the  shore.  All  articles  of  necessary  con- 
sumption are  inordinately  taxed.  There  is  a  tax  of 
25  per  cent,  on  the  income  of  real  estate.* 

We  hear  much  of  the  indolence  of  the  lazzaroni 
of  Naples ;  they  are  idle,  but  Mr.  Hammett,  who  is 
a  sagacious  observer,  says  they  are  not  indolent;  he 
has  never  known  one  of  them  to  refuse  work  when 
offered  to  him,  and  they  will  work  for  the  smallest 
sum.  We  complain  of  their  extreme  abjectness,  of 
their  invariably  besetting  us,  after  being  paid  the 
price  agreed  on, "  for  a  little  more."  "  Ah,"  he  says, 
"  they  are  so  very  poor."  If  the  man  had  half  a 
soul  the  "  King  of  the  Lazzaroni"  would  be  most 
wretched ;  but  his  people  are  only  his  to  provide  for 
his  pleasures  and  feed  his  avarice.  Avarice  is  his 
ruling  passion.f  During  the  cholera  an  impost  of 
half  a  million  of  ducats  was  laid  to  alleviate  the 
extreme  distress  of  the  poor.  Fifty  thousand  only 
went  to  relieve  their  necessities,  and  the  remainder 
to  the  king's  coffers. 

W^henever  the  provinces  require  expenditures  for 
repairs  or  improvements  they  raise  money  by  laying 

*  As  if  each  potentate  were  not  sufficiently  ingenious  in  laying 
taxes,  one  plays  into  the  hand  of  another.  Meat  is  of  course  pro- 
scribed during  lent,  but  his  holiness  grants  a  dispensation  on  the 
payment  of  three  carlini  to  the  king. 

t  The  alarm  of  a  war  with  England  occurred  while  we  were  at 
Naples.  The  English  deserted  the  town  immediately,  and  the  peo- 
ple suffered  much  loss  and  the  usual  confusion  and  anxiety  incident 
to  such  a  report.  It  was  afterward  said  the  king  got  up  the  alarm 
that  he  might  speculate  in  the  stocks !  This  might  be  truth  or  sat- 
ire, it  does  not  matter  much  which. 


244  NAPLES. 

a  tax ;  but  the  money  so  raised  cannot  be  laid 
out  till  a  certain  officer  of  the  government  makes  a 
report  as  to  the  appropriation.  If  three  years  pass 
without  a  report  being  made,  the  money  escheats  to 
the  king.  Repeatedly  the  tax  has  been  laid,  the 
money  collected,  and  the  report  never  made.  The 
avarice  of  a  private  individual  is  a  folly,  in  a  king  it 
is  a  crime.* 

We  had  heard  a  very  pretty  story  of  the  king 
braving  the  cholera,  and  remaining  with  his  family 
at  Naples  that  he  might  share  the  common  danger 
and  calm  the  panic.  The  truth  is,  that  he  remained 
at  Casserta,  a  royal  residence  at  a  distance  from  the 
danger,  and  that  once,  when  he  drove  into  the  city, 
and  was  passing  through  the  Mercata,  the  despair- 
ing people  gathered  about  him  and  threw  their 
black  bread  into  his  carriage.  He  threw  it  out 
again,  and  bade  them  flock  to  the  churches  and  pray 
God  to  pardon  them  for  the  crimes  for  which  he  had 
sent  this  scourge  upon  them !  Does  it  seem  to  you, 
dear  C,  that  our  world  of  free  people  and  respon- 
sible governors  can  be  the  same  in  which  this  self- 
ish wretch  lives,  a  king,  and  permitted  to  transmit 
his  power  to  his  like  ? 

He  has  been  educated  by  priests,  and  is  now  in 

*  The  system  of  espionage  is  so  much  more  severe  in  the  prov- 
inces than  at  Naples  that  the  country  gentlemen  flock  to  the  city 
for  protection.  We  knew  intimately  one  of  these,  a  most  amia- 
ble and  accomplished  young  man,  whose  whole  family  had  suf- 
fered political  persecution.  Some  had  lost  their  lives,  some  were 
maimed,  and  some  had  died  of  broken  hearts.  While  we  look  with 
detestation  on  the  vices  of  a  government  that  thus  afflicts  its  sub- 
jects, we  must  not  forget  the  virtue  that  thus  resists. 


NAPLES.  245 

the  hands  of  the  Jesuits^  His  tutor  has  published 
the  course  of  instruction  by  which  he  trained  his 
royal  and  docile  pupil.  The  king  is  there  set  forth 
as  the  shepherd,  and  the  people  as  his  sheep,  over 
whom  he  has  absolute  power  to  lead  them  whither 
he  will,  to  give  life  or  inflict  death. 

As  neither  the  people  nor  the  soldiers  have  any 
attachment  to  the  government,  there  might  be  some 
hope  of  a  better  future  if  it  were  not  backed  by  the 
power  of  Austria.  The  disaffection  of  the  soldiery 
is  so  notorious  that  even  the  king  himself  is  aware 
of  it.  He  had  at  one  time  a  fancy  to  give  the 
troops  a  new  uniform.  "  Dress  them  as  you  will," 
said  his  father,  "  at  their  first  opportunity  they  will 
run  away  from  you  !" 

There  is  a  deep  and  general  depravation  here, 
doubtless,  but  the  spirit  of  manhood  is  not  extinct. 
A  few  days  since  a  Calabrian  soldier  was  struck  by 
his  superior  officer.  He  complained  to  his  colonel, 
who  treated  the  grievance  as  a  bagatelle.  The  next 
day,  on  the  parade,  the  soldier  shot  the  officer,  and 
then  walked  quietly  away.  He  w^as,  of  course,  seiz- 
ed, and  the  next  morning  executed.  To  the  last  he 
was  unfaltering,  and  said  coolly  that  he  had  only 
done  what  should  have  been  done  for  him ! 

Neither  is  humanity  extinct  here  ;  and,  as  you  re- 
joice in  the  knowledge  of  a  good  deed  as  a  gem- 
fancier  does  in  the  discovery  of  an  antique,  or  a  pic- 
ture-buyer in  the  acquisition  of  a  Raphael,  I  will 
tell  you  a  story  Mr.  T.  told  us  of  a  gentleman  whose 
benevolent  countenance  he  pointed  out  at  the  court 

X2 


246  NAPLES. 

ball.  The  person  in  question  is  the  king's  master  of 
ceremonies,  nobly  born,  for  a  lineal  ancestor  of  his 
received  a  sword  from  Francis  the  First  at  the  battle 
of  Pavia.  The  descendant  has  done  something  better 
than  giving  or  receiving  swords.  During  the  chol- 
era he  took  under  his  protection  eighty  recent  or- 
phans. He  built  an  asylum  for  them  which  cost 
thirty  thousand  dollars.  He  has  ever  since  defrayed 
its  expenses  and  superintended  it  daily.  His  in- 
come does  not  exceed  nine  thousand  ducats  per  an- 
num !* 


March  10. — We  went  yesterday,  my  dear  C,  to 
Pompeii.  K — n  was  with  us,  quoting  poetry  and 
talking  poetic-prose  ,•  the  accompaniment  of  such 
society,  on  an  occasion  like  this,  is  like  having  fine 

*  I  have  adverted  to  the  controversy  with  England  which  occur- 
red during  our  sojourn  at  Naples.  The  king  fancied  he  could  extri- 
cate himself  from  the  difficulty  by  requiring  his  minister  to  falsify 
the  word  he  had  pledged  to  an  English  company.  He  refused  to  do 
this.  The  king  threatened,  he  persisted,  and  was  consequently  de- 
prived of  his  office,  and  ordered  to  retire  to  a  strong  house  in  one  of 
the  provinces,  infected  with  malaria.  He  was  poor  ;  his  daughters 
(his  only  children),  in  the  deepest  affliction,  said  they  would  throw 
themselves  at  the  king's  feet  and  entreat  his  pardon.  "  Then  you 
will  do  it  at  the  peril  of  my  everlasting  displeasure,"  said  the  father. 
•*  I  have  only  done  my  duty  ;  shall  I  ask  pardon  for  that  ?  No,  my 
children.  Leave  me  my  integrity  ;  it  is  all  that  remains  to  me."  A 
gen  d'armes  present  told  him  he  was  indiscreet  to  say  these  things 
in  his  presence.  He  replied,  "  You  will  do  me  a  favour  if  you  repeat 
them  to  his  majesty." 

I  asked  a  Neapolitan  friend  if  this  affair  were  spoken  of,  "  Yes," 
he  said,  "  but  each  man  looks  before  he  speaks  to  see  who  is  within 
hearing !" 


NAPLES,  247 

music  to  your  dancing.  We  drove  past  fields  in 
which  there  were  masses  of  ashes  and  lava  of  last 
year's  eruption.  It  appears  now  strange  that  Pom- 
peii should  so  long  have  remained  buried.  The  sur- 
face of  the  ground  yet  unopened  indicates  what  is 
beneath ;  it  resembles  a  burying-ground,  except  that 
the  tumuli  are  higher  and  more  irregular.  You  ig- 
norantly  wonder  that  the  people  of  the  villages  at 
the  base  of  Vesuvius  do  not  live  in  constant  terror : 
experience  has  taught  them  better.  The  stream  of 
lava  rolls  slowly,  like  honey  on  an  inclined  plain, 
and  you  may  be  near  enough  to  touch  it  with  a  cane 
and  retreat  before  it  reaches  you.*  After  a  drive  of 
twelve  miles  we  reached  Pompeii,  and,  alighting,  en- 
tered the  Strada  dei  Sepolcri,  street  of  tombs.  This 
fitting  entrance  brings  you  immediately  into  sympa- 
thy with  the  people  who  lived  here ;  for  their  dead, 
those  they  loved,  wept,  and  honoured,  are  as  near  to 
you  as  the  dead  of  yesterday  !  This  street  of  tombs 
was  outside  the  gates  of  the  city;f  the  tombs  are 
raised   several  feet   above  the   general  level,  and 

*  When  there  is  an  eruption  the  people  go  on  with  their  usual  oc- 
cupations till  they  see  the  stream  coming  their  way  ;  then  they  pack 
up  their  valuables— a  small  burden — and  trudge  off  to  Naples.  If 
their  houses  are  buried,  they  return,  when  the  lava  cools,  to  build 
new  ones,  and  cultivate  a  soil  inexhaustibly  fertile. 

t  The  Romans,  except  in  the  case  of  eminent  individuals,  forbade 
interments  within  the  walls  of  their  cities.  The  author  of  "  Rome 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century"  justly  remarks  that  the  Roman  custom 
of  burying  on  either  side  of  the  highway  explains  the  common  inscrip- 
tion, "  *S2ife  Fjaror.'"  ("Stop,  traveller'")  so  appropriate  for  them, 
and  so  absurd  as  used  in  village  churchyards,  where  no  traveller  ever 
passes. 


248  NAPLES. 

crowned  with  monuments  beautifully  sculptured,  and 
in  some  cases  nearly  entire.  The  interior  of  the 
"wall  surrounding  the  tomb  is  coarsely  wrought  in 
bas-relief.  The  streets  are  narrow  and  paved  with 
large  flat  stones  which  bear  the  traces  of  wheels,  but 
the  pavement  is  unbroken  and  far  better  than  that 
in  the  older  parts  of  New- York.  There  are  raised 
side-walks ;  a  luxury  you  do  not  find  in  the  modern 
Italian  cities.  * 

Now,  my  dear  C,  I  feel  it  to  be  quite  in  vain  to 
attempt  to  convey  to  you  sensations  indefinable,  un- 
utterably strange,  and  yet  thrilling  us  with  a  fresh 
and  undreamed-of  pleasure ;   I  know  not  why,  un- 
less it  be  from  a  sort  of  triumph  over  time  ;  for  here 
the  past  is  given  back,  and  the  dead  are  yielded  up  ! 
"We  passed   thresholds  where   the  words  "  Salve^' 
and  "  Ave  "  saluted  us  almost  audibly.     We  ranged 
through  rooms  where  people  1800  years  ago  went  to 
bed  at  night  and  rose  again  in  the  morning;  we 
sat  down  in  porticoes  where  they  once  sat  talking  of 
wh-at  Caesar  was  doing  in  the  provinces  and  Cicero 
saying  in  the  Forum.    We  looked  on  the  architectural 
designs  and  figures  still  in  vivid  colours  on  the  walls, 
and  fancied  how  the  possessor  of  the  Actseon  torn  by 
the  dogs  of  Diana  triumphed  in  having  a  picture 
more  beautiful  than  any  of  her  neighbours,  and  how 
her  rival  might  have  exulted  over  her  in  the  "  Cupid 
and  Dolphin  sporting"  on  the  now  vacant  pedestal 
of  her  fountain.     We  entered   the  boudoir  where 
the  gold  bracelet  weighing  a  pound  was  discovered  ; 
and  as  we  looked  at  the  two  doves^  wrought  in  its 


NAPLES.  249 

mosaic  pavement,  hovering  over  a  jewel  casket 
while  one  of  them  draws  out  a  necklace,  we  fancied 
the  happy  artist  showing  his  successful  work  to  his 
employer.  We  saw  the  baby-heir  of  the  house 
creeping  over  the  marble  floor  to  the  masterpiece 
of  all  mosaics,  while  his  nurse  pointed  out  Alexan- 
der and  his  helmeted  Greeks,  and  Darius  and  his 
turbaned  Persians !  We  fancied  the  errand-boy 
reading  the  name,  still  legible,  of  the  oil-merchant, 
and  turning  in  to  purchase  oil  from  the  jars  sunken 
in  the  counter,  and  yet  perfect.  We  saw  the  jovial 
wine-drinker  setting  down  his  drinking-cup  on  the 
marble  slab  that  still  bears  its  mark.  We  sat  down 
on  a  semicircular  stone-bench  on  the  side-walk,  and 
heard  the  old  man  tell  his  gossips,  how  well  he 
fought  at  Jerusalem  under  their  good  Titus,  and  the 
nurse  promise  the  listening  boy  he  should  go  up  to 
Rome  and  see  the  wild  beasts  fight  in  the  new  Fla- 
vian amphitheatre.  We  imagined  the  luxurious 
Pompeian,  after  his  bath,  sitting  on  the  bronze  bench 
over  a  brazier  in  the  still  perfect  bathing-room,  and 
looking  up  with  Roman  pride  at  the  effigies  of  the 
captive  barbarian  kings  supporting  the  shelves  on 
which  stood  the  pots  of  precious  ointments.  We  fan- 
cied the  Pompeian  Rogers  dispensing  the  hospitality 
of  "the  house  of  the  Faun,"  which,  from  the  treasures 
found  there,  seems,  like  that  of  our  host  in  London, 
to  have  been  a  museum  of  art  and  beauty;  and  as  we 
walked  over  its  mosaic  pavements  made  of  precious 
marbles  obtained  from  elder  ruins,  and  passed  walls 
built  of  the  lava  of  previous  eruptions,  we  heard  the 


250  NAPLES. 

antiquary  of  Pompeii  explaining  former  pioggie,*  and 
the  moralist  prosing,  as  we  were,  on  the  mutations 
of  human  affairs !  We  stood  in  the  tragic  theatre, 
and  saw  the  audience  stirred  by  allusions  to  locali- 
ties and  celestial  phenomena  which  no  roof  hid  from 
them.  We  heard  the  cries  of  the  workmen  in  the 
Forum  when  the  eruption  burst  forth,  and  they  let 
fall  their  tools,  and  left  the  walls  but  half  rebuilt, 
and  the  columns  but  half  restored  that  had  been 
overthrown  by  an  earthquake  sixteen  years  before. 
We  heard  the  sounds  of  labour  in  the  narrow  lanes, 
and,  emerging  into  a  broad  street,  imagined  what 
must  have  been  the  sensations  of  those  who  filled  it 
when,  looking  through  its  long  vista,  they  saw  the 
flames  bursting  from  Vesuvius,  and,  turning  back, 
beheld  them  glaring  on  the  snow-capped  mountains 
opposite.  And,  finally,  my  dear  C.j  after  going  over 
the  ruined  temples  of  Isis  and  Hercules,  we  returned 
to  our  own  actual  life — all  that  was  left  of  it  unex- 
hausted— and,  sitting  down  on  the  steps  of  the  tem- 
ple of  Venus,  we  ate  buns,  'and  drank  our  Capri, 
and  sympathized  with  one  of  our  friends,  who  feared 
he  should  outstay  his  Naples'  dinner  and  his  fa- 
vourite omelette  souffle,  and  laughed  at  an  unhap- 
py English  pair  whom  we  had  repeatedly  encoun- 
tered, the  man  swearing  it  was  "  all  a  d — d  bore, 
these  old  rattle-trap  places,"  and  his  consort,  with 
Madame  Starke  open  in  her  hands,  learning  where 
she  was  to  give  one,  and  where  two  notes  of  admi- 
ration I 

*  The  Italians  thus  designate  an  eruption. 


NAPLES.  251 

My  dear  C, 
We  went  early  this  morning  to  the  Studii,  and, 
by  way  of  an  appropriate  sequence  to  yesterday,  we 
proceeded  directly  to  the  apartments  containing  the 
personal  ornaments,  domestic  utensils,  &c.,  of  the 
Pompeians.*  There  are  four  rooms,  containing  more 
than  four  thousand  vases  and  other  vessels  of  terra- 
cotta. They  are  embellished  with  classical  subjects, 
and  their  workmanship  marks  successive  eras  of  art. 
The  value  set  on  them  you  may  imagine  from  two 
among  them  being  estimated  at  ten  thousand  ducats 
each  !  In  another  apartment  is  a  collection  of  pre- 
cious gems,  sapphires,  amethysts,  carnelians,  &c., 
cut  into  fine  cameos.  What  think  you  of  a  cup  (in 
which  some  Pompeian  Cleopatra  may  have  melted 
her  pearls  and  swallowed  them)  as  large  round  as 
the  top  of  a  pint  bowl,  made  of  alabaster,  with  a 
rim  of  sardonyx,  having  on  one  side  a  group  in  bas- 
relief  of  seven  figures,  representing,  with  wonderful 
expression,  an  apotheosis,  and  on  the  other  an  ex- 
quisite Medusa's  head !  There  are  a  great  variety 
of  personal  ornaments,  necklaces,  bracelets,  rings, 
pins,  &c.,  from  which  our  fashionable  jewelry  of 
late  years  has  been  copied.  We  saw  the  necklace 
and  bracelets  that  Diomed's  wife  wore  for  one  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  years  !  Yesterday  we  went  into 
her  wine-cellar,  where  she  was  found  with  her  purse 

*  With  these  are  intremingled  the  treasures  found  in  Hercula* 
neum. 


252  NAPLES. 

in  her  hand,  and  where  the  wine-jars  are  still  stand- 
ing !"* 

There  is  an  immense  quantity  of  bronze  armour, 
some  of  it  beautifully  embossed,  and  so  heavy  that 
it  would  seem  to  require  a  giant's  strength  to  sus- 
tain it.  One  helmet  was  found  on  a  soldier  who 
stood  it  out  bravely  at  his  post ;  he  was  discovered 
at  a  gate  of  his  city,  still  on  guard,  when  the  ashes 
were  removed  ! 

I'here  is  an  endless  variety  of  bronze  lamps,  some 
very  beautiful,  and  small  stoves ;  one,  that  seemed 
to  me  a  nice  contrivance,  had  a  fireplace  in  the  mid- 
dle, pipes  running  round  it,  and  cylinders  at  each 
corner.  There  is  every  article  a  housewife  could 
desire  to  furnish  her  kitchen  :  kettles,  saucepans,  co- 
landers, tunnels,  dippers,  steelyards,  with  bronze 
busts  for  weights !  and,  in  short,  dear  C,  there  is 
everything  to  identify  the  wants,  usages,  and  com- 
forts of  the  ancients  with  our  own :  surgical  instru- 
ments, keys,  garden  tools.  We  observed  a  writing- 
case  precisely  in  the  fashion  of  a  compact  little  af- 
fair K.  is  now  using,  and  which  she  bought  at  a  ba- 
zar in  London. 

The  drinking-cups  are  various  and  beautiful. 
There  are  seventy  alike  of  silver,  small  and  fluted, 
which  were  taken  from  a  table  outspread  for  a  din- 
ner that  was  never  eaten  j  and  perhaps  it  was  for 
this  very  dinner  that  some  meat  which  w^e  saw  in  a 
stewpan  was  in  preparation. 

*  The  poor  lady  is  supposed  to  have  sought  refuge  in  the  cellar. 
Very  few  skeletons  have  been  found  at  Pompeii,  from  which  it  ap- 
pears that  most  of  the  inhabitants  had  time  to  escape. 


NAPLES.  253 

There  are  wheat,  rice,  oats,  honey,  figs,  prunes, 
and  almonds,  all  unchanged  to  the  eye,  except 
darkened  in  colour;  and  there  is  dough  all  ready 
for  the  oven,  and  a  cake  just  taken  out  of  it  mark- 
ed into  slices,  and  looking  precisely  like  a  "  com- 
position-cake" prepared  for  one  of  our  rural  tea- 
tables — I  did  not  taste  it ! — and  I  saw  a  little  cake 
made  in  the  form  of  a  ring,  and  set  aside — per- 
haps— to  cool  for  some  pet  child  at  school.  Strange 
thoughts  all  these  objects  called  up  of  human  pro- 
jects and  pursuits,  and  of  human  blindness. 


You  will  be  pleased  to  know  that  your  profession 
at  Naples,  though  not  sans  reproche,  as  they,  for  the 
most  part,  notoriously  take  bribes,  have  a  benevo- 
lent association  for  the  gratuitous  prosecution  of  the 
causes  of  the  poor.  This  society  meets  every  Sun- 
day morning,  and  go  in  a  body  to  church  to  say 
their  prayers.  On  every  Thursday  morning  four  of 
their  number  are  in  waiting  to  receive  applications. 
Our  friend  L — a,  who  is  one  of  them,  says  it  does 
not  amount  to  much,  not  from  the  fault  of  the  law- 
yers, but  from  the  reluctance  of  the  clients,  who 
have  no  confidence  that  the  right  can  prevail  with- 
out the  customary  accessory  of  bribes.  A  bribe  to 
the  judge  is  about  as  much  a  matter  of  course  as  a 
fee  to  the  lawyer ! 

L — a  took  us  yesterday  to  see  the  civil  courts  held 
in  the  Vicaria,  a  palace  formerly  occupied  by  the 
sovereigns  of  Naples.     The  lower  story  und  subter- 

VoL.  U.--^Y 


254  NAPLES. 

ranean  apartments  are  devoted  to  prisons,  and  are  in 
a  horrible  condition.  The  upper  story  is  another 
kind  of  prison ;  there  the  archives  of  the  state  are 
kept,  and  among  them  precious  historical  records, 
jealously  locked  up.  Foreigners  are  occasionally 
permitted  a  few  hours'  research  among  them,  and  a 
few  favoured  Neapolitans  have  been  admitted  for  a 
very  short  time. 

In  going  up  the  wet  stone  staircase  we  passed  a 
half-famished-looking  woman  sitting  asleep  with  one 
child  at  her  breast,  in  vain  seeking  food  there,  and 
another  lean,  pallid  thing  nestled  close  to  her. 
Would  not  such  a  spectacle  in  the  precincts  of  your 
courts  have  brought  down  a  shower  of  alms  ?  these 
people  clattered  past  them  as  regardless  as  if  these 
human  things  were  a  part  of  the  stone  they  sat  upon. 
This  is  "  custom."  God  has  not  given  the  Neapolitans 
hearts  harder  than  ours  up  in  Berkshire.  We  went 
through  several  crowded  anterooms  filled  with  law- 
yers,  clients,  and  idlers,  hawkers  of  stationary,  and 
beggars.  One  long  hall  was  lined  on  both  sides 
with  desks  occupied  by  scriveners  who,  amid  such 
clamour  as  I  am  sure  you  never  heard,  were  going 
on  as  undisturbed  as  if  they  had  been  in  your  quiet 
office.  We  made  our  way  through  three  rooms 
where  courts  were  in  session,  and  where  the  business 
was  conducted  quietly  and  decently,  much,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  in  form  like  the  business  of  our  legal 
tribunals,  except  in  one  particular.  There  is  one  of- 
ficer called  the  procuratore,  whose  business  it  is  to 
expound  the  law  and  apply  its  principles  to  the 


NAPLES.  255 

cause  in  question.  Accustomed,  as  I  have  always 
been,  to  regard  our  judges  as  uncorrupted  and  incor- 
ruptible, I  felt  a  sort  of  shuddering  in  looking  at 
these  men,  whose  vices  are  diseases  of  the  heart  that 
must  carry  disease  and  death  into  every  part  of  the 
body  of  the  state.  There  are  four  thousand  lawyers 
in  Naples,  including  clerks  and  scriveners,  and  it 
would  seem  that  they,  and  all  their  dependants  and 
followers,  were  within  the  walls  of  this  old  palace. 
These  masses  looked  busy  and  intelligent,  and  much 
more  respectable  than  the  populace  in  the  street 
— as  if  it  had  been  sifted  indeed,  and  this  was  the 
grain,  that  the  chaff.  The  lawyers  are  marked  by 
the  government,  as  it  is  well  known  that  they  best 
understand  the  rights  of  the  people.  Authors  are 
marked  men  too ;  and  with  good  reason,  if  they  re- 
flect and  feel  as  well  as  write.* 

*  There  is  a  young  Neapolitan  who  obtained  permission  to  print  a 
history  of  the  kingdom  of  Naples.  He  went  on  smoothly  till  he 
came  to  the  seventh  century,  when  the  invasion  of  the  Saracens 
gave  rise  to  some  patriotic  expressions  ;  the  publication  was  stopped 
and  his  MS  S.  seized.  Nothing  daunted,  he  began  again;  andnow,  as 
fast  as  he  completes  a  certain  portion,  he  sends  it  out  of  the  country 
to  be  printed.  There  is  an  institution  here  called  DAlbergo  de'  Po- 
veri  (Asylum  for  the  Poor),  which  has  large  funds,  but  so  fraudulently 
managed  that  the  inmates  are  little  benefited  by  them  (the  sum 
allotted  to  each  person  is  thirty-nine  ducats  a  year,  and  not  more 
than  the  half  of  this  is  spent  upon  him).  The  young  historian  re- 
solved to  expose  these  abuses,  and  he  wrote  a  clever  poem,  in  which 
he  caricatured  several  persons  concerned  in  them.  This  was  printed 
here  with  a  foreign  superscription.  He  was  seized  and  imprisoned. 
He  confessed  the  authorship,  but  maintained  there  was  no  law  for- 
bidding his  writing  what  he  would  ;  and  as  to  the  printing,  the  printer 
Hiu€t  answer  for  that.  He  was  steadfast,  and  prevailed,  but  he  is  a 
marked  man.    One  poor  fellow,  for  a  much  lighter  offence,  was  sent 


256  NAPLES. 

I  am  tempted  here,  my  dear  C,  to  copy  a  passage 

from  's  journal  which  lies  open  before  me, 

relating  to  a  persecuted  author,  whose  poems  the 
girls  have  been  reading  with  our  Neapolitan  friend 
L.  It  will  at  least  serve  to  show  you  how  ground- 
less were  your  fears  that  our  young  people,  in  the 
enchantment  of  these  countries,  would  lose  their  sense 
of  the  advantages  of  their  own. 

"  L.  considers  Count  Leopardi  the  finest  poet 
since  Alfieri,  and  certainly  there  is  great  power  in 
some  of  the  things  we  read ;  and,  oh !  it  gives  us 
such  a  feeling,  such  a  '  realizing  sense'  of  the  men- 
tal suffering  endured  here  by  men  who  have  one 
spark  left  of  that  love  of  freedom  which  seems  to 
be  God's  universal  gift,  who  have  their  eyes  open  to 
what  is  passing  round  them,  and  aspirations  after 
better  things.   < 

"  And  as  we  read  with  L.  and  see  how  excited 
he  becomes,  how,  from  the  very  innermost  depths  of 
his  soul,  he  responds  to  the  bitter  invectives  and  keen 
sarcasms  of  the  poet,  we  too  kindle  into  a  glow  of 
indignation,  and  feel  ourselves  animated  by  the  spir- 
it of  uncompromising  resistance ;  and  when  we  lay 
aside  the  book  we  thank  Heaven,  more  than  ever, 
that  our  lot  is  cast  in  a  land  where  we  can  think, 
speak,  and  act  as  the  spirit  moveth  us  ;  and  Amer- 
ica rises  before  us  in  a  halo  of  light,  brightening 

to  a  madhouse,  plunged  into  the  bagno  di  sorpresa,  chained,  and  con- 
fined with  the  "  furiously  mad."    He  excited  such  sympathy  and  ' 
called  forth  such  powerful  intercession  that  he  was  finally  released, 
and  is  now  in  Paris. 


NAPLES.  257 

snd  brightening.     As  Dante  says  on  his  first  seeing 
Paradise, 

*  E  disubito  parve  giorno  a  giorno 
Essere  agguinto  come  quel  che  puote, 
Avesse  'i  ciel  d'un  altro  sole  adornc'  " 

For  a  quiet  person,  who  does  not  care  to  run  after 
sights,  I  can  imagine  nothing  more  delightful  than 
to  sit  at  the  window  as  I  do  now,  and  look  out  on 
the  bay  and  the  golden  clouds  floating  over  Vesuvius 
and  Somma,  and  at  Vesuvius  itself  bathed  in  purple 
light.  But  the  chief  pleasure  of  a  residence  in  Na- 
ples, after  visiting  the  Studii,  driving  up  the  Sti'ada 
JVuova — a  superb  terrace-road  overlooking  the  bay 
— after  walking  through  the  royal  pleasure-grounds 
at  Capo  di  Monte,  through  the  Boschi,  a  green  Po- 
silipo  with  "  verd'rous  walls,"  and  looking  at  the 
king's  seven  hiindred  peacocks  dragging  their  green, 
their  white,  and  their  azure  blue  plumes  ov€r  the 
green  turf — and  after  ranging  through  the  terra  cot- 
ta,  coral,  and  lava  shops — the  chief  pleasure  at  Na- 
ples is  from  the  excursions  about  its  rich  environs. 

The  girls  have  ascended  Vesuvius,  and  will  give 
you  their  report.  We  have,  of  course,  visited  the 
tomb  of  Virgil,  hardly  to  be  called  an  excursion,  for 
it  is  just  at  the  end  of  the  city,  over  the  entrance  to 
Posilipo.  The  fact  of  it  being  the  tomb  of  Virgil  is 
disputed.  Eustace  argues  earnestly  for  the  real 
presence;  but  Eustace  is  an  easy  believer.  It  is, 
however,  a  position  the  poet  might  have  chosen  if 
he  looked  fondly  back  to  earth.  It  is  in  a  vineyard, 
amid  grotesque  .forms  of  tufa,  which  give  a  pictu- 

Y2 


258  NAPLES. 

resque  effect  to  the  ilex,  ivy,  and  laurel  that  hang 
caressingly  about  the  tomb,  as  if  they  had  volunta- 
rily grown  there.  There  are  various  openings  af- 
fording glimpses  of  Vesuvius,  of  the  glorious  bay 
and  its  lovely  shores.  The  tomb  itself  is  an  ordi- 
nary columbarium,  with  niches  enough  for  all  the 
Latin  poets  who  have  come  down  to  us. 

We  have  just  returned  from  Pozzuoli,  the  ancient 
Puteoli.  After  driving  to  the  end  of  the  gay  Chi- 
aia,  we  entered  the  grotto  of  Posilipo,  v^^hich  is 
a  tunnel  cut  through  a  tufa  hill,  and  is  2316 
English  feet  in  length,  twenty -two  in  breadth,  and, 
where  loftiest,  eighty-seven  feet  in  height.  It  has  a 
few  dim  lamps,  w^hose  insufficient  light  is  inade- 
quately supplied  by  the  few  rays  of  outer  day  that 
penetrate  the  arched  entrances  at  each  extremity. 
The  passage  is  wuld  and  impressive.  The  impris- 
oned and  heightened  sound  reverberating  from  the 
walls  is  like  nothing  earthly.  The  smiths  who  are 
working  by  fitful  fires  in  a  deep  cavity  at  one  en- 
trance, seem  stationed  at  the  threshold  of  Pluto's 
realm.  An  almost  impalpable  powder,  from  ground 
which  no  drop  of  rain  ever  touches,  darkens  and 
thickens  the  atmosphere ;  a  carriage  drives  past  you 
with  noise  enough  for  a  train  of  railroad  cars ;  then 
a  Neapolitan  car,  with  a  little  demon  of  a  horse 
with  only  a  patch  of  skin  here  and  there,  and  no 
flesh,  dashes  along,  its  nine  or  ten  wild,  ragged 
passengers  stuck  on,  chaffering,  yelling,  and  laugh- 
ing, and  all  vanishing  as  soon  as  past,  seeming  mere 
shadows  in   a  shadow  land.     Suddenly  a  bright 


NAPLES.  259 

gleam  of  lamplight  illumines  the  figure  of  a  bare- 
headed, gray  old  woman  driving  an  ass  with  pan- 
niers, or  falls  on  a  strapping,  bare-legged  girl  fol- 
lowing another  loaded  with  piles  of  wood.  They 
but  appear,  and  vanish  in  darkness.  There  are 
shrines  niched  in  the  wall,  where  a  lamp  burns  be- 
fore an  image  or  a  crucifix,  and  in  the  veiy  heart  of 
the  passage  is  a  chapel  to  the  virgin  scooped  in  the 
rock.  I  have  seen  this  illuminated ;  and  when  its 
lights  are  glaring  on  two  or  three  kneeling  worship- 
pers, and  on  a  haggard  beggar  pointing  to  the  im- 
age of  the  holy  mother  and  stretching  his  hand  to 
you,  it  produces  a  startling  effect. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  date  of  this  work  is  un- 
known. It  is  mentioned  by  Pliny  and  Strabo,  and 
is  supposed  to  have  been  done  by  the  Cumseans,  to 
connect  Neapolis  with  Puteoli.  After  emerging 
from  the  grotto  this  morning — and  what  a  delicious 
transit  it  is  to  the  open  sky  and  earth  ! — we  turned 
off  our  road  towards  Agnano,  a  pretty,  secluded 
crater-lake  devoted  to  the  king's  aquatic  birds.  Such 
numbers  were  emerging  from  it  that  it  seemed  a 
fountain  of  life,  and  as  if  its  waters  were  at  every 
moment  becoming  incorporate  in  feathers  and  wings 
— poor  things,  they  had  a  doomed  look ! 

We  left  our  carriage  on  the  lake-shore  to  walk  up 
a  steep  hill  to  Astroni,  where  we  were  admitted 
within  a  stone  wall  of  four  or  five  miles  in  circum- 
ference which  encloses  the  king's  preserves.  It 
was  here  the  queen  did  that  delicate  bit  of  lady-like 
work — ^killed  her  seventeen  boars  of  a  fine  morning ! 


260  NAPLES. 

From  the  hill  where  we  stood  we  looked  down  five 
or  six  hundred  feet  into  what  was  once  the  crater  of 
a  volcano,  and  is  now  a  spacious  plain  overgrown 
by  trees  and  walled  round  by  steep  precipices. 
There  is  no  tradition  of  the  volcano,  and  no  other 
record  of  it  than  that  w^hich  the  earth  bears  on  her 
bosom.  To  an  American  eye  these  preserves  sug- 
gest the  idea  of  uncleared  land,  upon  which  the  set- 
tler is  beginning  his  v/ork ;  the  sound  of  the  wood- 
man's axe  comes  up  musically  from  this  deep  soli- 
tude. L.  and  I  wandered  about  the  eminences 
among  the  superb  ilexes,  gathering  the  white  heath, 
and  catching  glimpses  of  the  bay,  the  queenly  Nisi- 
da,  and  the  great  St.  Angelo. 

We  returned  to  the  high  road  and  proceeded  along 
the  margin  of  the  Bay  of  Baia  to  Pozzuoli.  This, 
once  a  great  maritime  town  of  Southern  Italy,  is  now 
a  miserable  beggarly  place,  containing  about  9000 
inhabitants,  chiefly  fishermen,  and,  as  it  would  appear 
from  the  troops  that  besiege  you,  beggars,  ciceroni, 
and  venders  of  "  antichi,'^  as  you  are  assured  the 
little  lamps  and  bronze  images  are  which  are  thrust 
into  your  carriage  by  stout  clamorous  fellows,  who 
meet  you  a  mile  out  of  the  town  and  keep  pace  with 
your  horses.  Ah !  there  is  a  horrid  tariff  on  all  out-of- 
door  pleasures  in  Italy.  Your  compact  made  with 
your  cicerone,  your  condition  improves,  the  venders 
drop  off  in  despair,  and  the  beggars  subside,  it  being 
a  part  of  his  duty  to  drive  them  off,  which  he  often 
does  amusingly  enough,  by  reiterating  the  only  Eng- 
lish w^ord  he  knows,  and  which  beggars  and  all  soon 


NAPLES.  261 

learn  in  the  good  English  society  they  keep :  "  d — n ! 
d—n!  d— n!" 

If  you  can  forget  the  hving  people  at  Pozzuoli, 
you  may  enjoy  fine  remains  of  the  dead.  There 
are  columns  of  Tavertine  of  a  temple  of  Jupiter 
Serapis  thirty-five  feet  high.  They  bear  a  curious 
record  of  the  passage  of  time  and  the  work  of  the 
elements ;  for  six  feet  from  the  base  they  are  entire 
and  smooth,  and  thus  far  they  have  been  buried  in 
the  sand ;  above  that  they  are  nearly  perforated,  made 
to  resemble  a  sponge,  by  pholas,  creatures  that  live 
only  in  salt  water,  so  that  the  sea  has  at  one  time 
advanced  upon  the  temple,  nearly  covered  it  for 
ages,  and  again  receded.  It  is  surrounded  by  baths. 
The  sick  who  came  to  bathe  in  the  mineral  water 
brought  their  propitiatory  offerings  to  the  god  and  to 
the  priest.  The  ring  to  which  the  victims  were  at- 
tached is  still  riveted  in  the  stone,  the  pavement 
below  the  altar  is  nearly  perfect,  and  all  around  are 
strewn  steps,  capitals,  and  fragments  of  bas-reliefs. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  temple  we  found 
workmen  employed  excavating  an  amphitheatre, 
which  will  approach  the  Colosseum  in  extent,  and  is 
found  in  a  good  state  of  preservation.  We  went 
through  an  opened  corridor  where  the  masonry  was 
as  perfect  as  if  it  were  done  yesterday. 

But  by  far  the  most  interesting  sight  at  Pozzuoli 
is  the  Via  Campana^  a  part  of  the  ancient  Via  Appia 
leading  hence  to  Gaeta.  It  is  for  two  miles  a  street 
of  tombs.  The  road  (its  pavement  still  in  perfect 
preservation)  is  a  deep  cut  between  high  rugged 


262  NAPLES. 

banks  in  which  the  tombs  were  imbedded,  two  and 
three  tiers  one  above  the  other.  Those  that  are 
opened  are  made  in  the  form  of  the  columbarium. 
There  w^as  an  altar  opposite  the  entrance,  and 
around  the  sides  a  double  row  of  niches  (pigeon- 
holes) to  contain  the  urns.  Their  ashes  are  now 
dispersed  to  the  winds,  and  Nature,  as  if  to  veil  the 
sanctuaries  she  had  so  long  hidden  in  her  bosom, 
has  dropped  over  the  opening  a  matted  drapery  of 
wild  creeping  plants.  Nothing  can  well  be  ima- 
gined more  solemn  and  more  touching  than  the  si- 
lence and  solitude  of  this  street  of  tombs.  The 
throngs  of  the  city  that  daily  sent  hither  its  funereal 
train  are  themselves  a  part  of  the  mighty  congrega- 
tion of  the  dead,  and  oblivion  has  effaced  their  rec- 
ords. 

"  The  wheel  has  come  full  circle." 


March  20. — ^This  morning  the  sun  rose  clear  for 
the  first  time  in  many  days.  Our  own  ungenial 
spring  has  followed  us ;  and,  what  with  clouds  with- 
out, and  illness  and  pressing  anxiety  within,  we  have 
had  some  heavy  hours.  But  this  has  been  a  day  of 
compensations. 

We  determined  at  breakfast  on  an  excursion  to 
Miscnum,  and  on  going  down  stairs  to  our  carriage 
we  met  our  friend  IC — n,  who  said  he  should  pass 
the  day  at  iVstrone,  but  if  "  we  had  asked  him  he 
should  have  gone  with  us !"  whereupon  we  eagerly 
offered  him  the  best  or  the  worst  seat  of  the  coach. 


NAPLES.  263 

He  took  that  on  the  box,  the  "  best  or  worst,"  ac- 
cording to  one's  fancy.  As  we  drove  round  the 
Villa  Reale,  strapping  men,  who  in  our  country 
would  be  wrestling  with  Nature  and  subduing  it, 
besieged  us,  entreating  us  to  buy  little  bunches  of 
violets.  K — n,  who,  I  observe,  seizes  eagerly  upon 
every  pretext  to  evade  the  money-saving,  modern 
non-giving  doctrines,  bought  his  hands  full  and 
threw  into  the  carriage. 

The  Chiaia  had  a  true  Neapolitan  aspect.  Equi- 
pages were  in  waiting  at  the  doors  of  the  English 
^^  appartemens  meuhleSy^'  for  the  luxurious  strangers 
who  were  yet  loitering  over  their  ten  o'clock  break- 
fasts. English  gentlemen  were  galloping  up  and 
down  the  trottoir.  Every  Neapolitan  living  thing 
had  come  out  and  was  basking  in  the  sun ;  and  for 
contrasts  they  were  striking  enough,  dear  C.  Un- 
der the  curtained  windows  of  these  English  princes, 
and  between  their  doors  and  their  carriages,  lay 
asleep,  and  sleeping  away  the  sense  of  hunger,  men 
in  the  heyday  of  life,  one  pillowed  on  the  body  of 
another ;  closely  packed  in  with  them  were  women, 
in  masses  of  rags  and  patches,  looking  heads — a 
regular  branch  of  industry  here* — and  there  were 
squads  of  stout  ragged  children  playing  games,  and 
knots  of  women  and  herds  of  sailors  talking  and 
gesticulating  more  vehemently  than  we  should  if  a 
revolution  were  on  the  point  of  exploding.     They 

*  Some  of  my  readers  may  be  shocked  by  the  grossness  of  such 
particulars ;  but  without  them  they  could  not  get  a  just  notion  of  the 
abject  condition  of  this  much- wronged  people. 


264  NAPLES. 

are  an  outside  people.  The  passions  that  lie  deep 
in  our  souls,  and  that  are  only  called  forth  by  the 
voice  of  their  master  and  to  effect  a  purpose,  are 
continually  breaking  out  here.  But  theirs  is  but 
heat  lightning  ;  ours  rives  the  oak. 

At  Pozzuoli  we  were,  as  usual,  besieged  by  a  lit- 
tle army  of  ciceroni.  I  had  previously  promised 
my  patronage  to  a  bright  lad  who  had  begged  me 
to  ask  for  Michael  Angelo.  I  did  so ;  and  a  stout, 
ragged,  ruffian-looking  wretch  started  forth,  ex- 
claiming, "  Ecco  !  ecco  !  Sono  Michael  Angelo .'" 
The  ruse  only  brought  down  upon  him  the  laugh  of 
his  comrades,  and  we  drove  off  with  a  certain  An- 
drea, a  nice  fellow,  whom  K — n,  a  fancier  of  human 
faces,  had  at  once  selected  from  his  tribe.  We  turn- 
ed off  near  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  mole  (supposed 
to  have  been  built  by  the  Cumaians,  and  repaired  by 
the  Roman  emperors)  to  which  Caligula  attached 
his  bridge  of  boats.  Here  we  left  our  carriage  at 
the  Lucrine  Lake,  and  went  off  by  a  footpath  to  the 
Lake  of  Avernus,  the  Tartarus  which  Virgil  describes 
in  the  Sixth  Book  of  the  il^neid.  It  is  like  all  the 
crater-lakes  we  have  seen,  deep  sunk  amid  barren 
and  precipitous  hills.  On  the  shore  of  this  lake  are 
the  ruins  of  a  temple  which  has  been  assigned  to 
Pluto  J  a  pretty  fair  guess ;  for  who  but  an  infernal 
deity  should  have  his  temple  on  Tartarus  ?  We 
turned  from  the  lake  to  the  grotto  of  the  Cumsean 
Sibyl,  the  long-sought  and  honoured  oracle  to  whom 
Dominichino  has  given  such  divine  grace ;  sacrifi- 
cing, as  it  seems  to  me,  inspiration  to  youth,  beauty, 


NAPLES.  265 

and  harmony.  We  know  not  what  art  has  done  for 
us  till  we  find  it  peopling  these  dreary  solitudes  with 
such  exquisite  forms.  The  grotto  is  a  low,  vaulted 
passage  (a  miniature  of  Posilipo),  piercing  the  hil. 
and  coming  out  on  the  other  side.  We  discreetly 
declined  groping  through  it,  contenting  ourselves 
with  a  bouquet  of  ivy-leaves  and  violets  plucked 
about  its  entrance. 

We  returned  to  the  carriage,  and  drove  round  the 
Bay  of  Baia,  a  most  secure  shelter  for  shipping.  It 
was  here  that  Pompey,  Crassus,  and  Pompeius  dined 
on  board  a  galley,  when  Pompey  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  do  the  treacherous  act  he  would  have  per- 
mitted his  servant  to  do  for  him.* 

Here  was  the  scene  of  Nero's  parricide ;  here 
lay  the  elder  Pliny  wdien  the  eruption  that  destroy- 
ed Pompeii  burst  forth ;  and  here  his  nephew  wrote 
that  letter  which  has  made  us  all  as  familiar  with 
the  circumstances  that  urged  his  uncle  into  the  scene 
of  danger,  with  the  curiosity  of  the  philosopher  and 
the  benevolence  of  the  friend,  as  if  both  uncle  and 
nephew  were  our  contemporaries,  and  we  had  re- 
ceived the  letter  by  yesterday's  post !  We  went  up 
into  the  little  village  of  Bauli,  on  the  ruins  of  Lu- 
cullus'  villa,  where  Tiberius  expired,  and  where  the 
people  are  now  nested  in  little  holes,  crannies,  and 
angles  of  old  walls.  We  descended  to  the  founda- 
tions of  a  celebrated  reservoir,  which  the  Romans 

*  "  Why,"  asked  his  freedman,  "  do  you  not  cut  the  cables,  and 
make  yourself  master  of  the  world  ?"  "  Why,"  he  replied,  **  did  you 
not  do  it  for  me  without  asking  me?" 

Vol.  II.— Z 


266  NAPLES. 

constructed  to  supply  their  fleet  with  fresh  water 
when  their  fleet  lay  in  the  Bay  of  Bai8e  ;  of  which 
forty-eight  piers  are  still  entire,  to  show  how  this 
magnificent  people  could  provide  for  an  exigency ! 
We  went  to  the  Mare  Morto,  a  little  inlet  of  the 
sea,  the  Stygian  Lake  of  Virgil,  and  over  his  Elys- 
ian  Fields,  and  wherever  we  went  we  turned  a  new 
leaf  in  the  views  of  this  land  of  loveliness.  We 
stood  on  the  sites  and  amid  the  ruins  of  temples, 
palaces,  and  villas ;  for  here  they  are,  to  borrow 
again  Dewey's  most  descriptive  expression, "  knead- 
ed into  the  soil " 

As  we  paused  on  the  shore  near  the  ruins  of  two 
magnificent  temples,  I  looked  across  to  Pozzuoh,* 
and  thought  of  the  moment  when  St.  Paul  first  set 
his  foot  on  Roman  ground  there.  Who  could  then 
have  prophesied  that  the  words  of  this  tent-maker 
should  be  a  law  to  the  conscience,  when  men  stand- 
ing where  we  stood  should  smile  doubtfully  at  being 
told,  "  Here  was  Nero's  palace,  there  was  Cicero's 
villa,  and  there  Lucullus' ;  and  there,  on  Nisida, 
lived  Brutus  with  Portia,  Cato's  daughter,  the  '  well- 
reputed  woman,'  so  fathered  and  so  husbanded  !" 
and  should  guess  whether  this  ruin  was  a  temple  to 
Venus,  or  Hercules,  or  no  temple  at  all !  or  this  other 
to  Mercury  and  Diana !  Imagination  should  recon- 
struct these  temples,  rebuild  these  villas,  repeople 
this  Roman  w^orld,  and  refill  it  with  its  luxury  and 
pomp,  to  estimate  the  faith  of  the  brave  apostle, 
who,  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  "  counted  all  things  but 
*  The  ancient  Puteoli, 


NAPLES.  267 

loss  for  the  excellency  of  the  knowledge  of  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord  !" 

But  to  return  to  ourselves,  dear  C.  Our  carriage 
"was,  as  usual,  followed  by  a  train — not  of  loathsome 
beggars  this  time,  but  of  young,  Moorish-looking 
girls,  who  held  up  saucers  with  bits  of  precious 
marbles  from  the  ruins,  which,  as  they  truly  said, 
were  "  molto  bello !  molto  graziozo  !"*  Their  lead- 
er, a  joyous  creature,  addressed  a  sort  of  badinage 
flattery  to  me,  telling  me  I  too  was  "  grazioza  e  bel- 
la !"  and,  when  I  shook  my  head,  she  shouted  merrily, 
and  said  I  should  be  "  if  I  bought  her  marbles !" 
The  train  swelled  as  w^e  proceeded,  and  among 
them  was  a  young  mute,  who  had  her  spindle  and 
distaff,  and  spun  as  she  walked.  She  seemed  about 
seventeen,  with  a  most  graceful,  fragile  figure,  and 
with  a  shade  of  prophetic  sadness  over  features  so 
beautiful  that  they  reminded  me  of  Raphael's  saints. 

We  had  left  our  carriage  and  gone  up  through  a 
defile  to  get  a  view  of  the  queen's  oyster-eating 
lodge ;  and  when  we  returned,  our  merry  troop, 
clamouring  and  laughing,  met  us  half  way.  Would 
that  I  could  describe  the  scene  to  you,  my  dear  C. ; 
but  I  can  only  give  you  the  materials,  and  you  must 
make  out  the  picture  for  yourself.  On  one  side  were 
the  ruins  of  temples,  on  the  other  the  monstrous 
foundations  of  mouldering  villas ;  before  us  the  bay, 
and  Vesuvius  with  its  blue  wreath  of  smoke,  and  the 
Apennines  brilliant  in  their  caps  of  snow,  and  Capri 

*  There  are  still  striking  momorials  of  the  Saracen  invasion  of 
Southern  Italy  in  the  features  and  colouring  of  many  of  the  people. 


268  NAPLES. 

far  off  in  the  bay,  so  soft  and  dreamy  that  it  seemed 
melting  away  while  we  w^ere  gazing  at  it ;  and 
clouds  were  driving  over  us,  with  fitful  sunbeams 
glancing  through  them.  Our  merry  followers  were 
joined  by  an  old  woman,  with  a  bright  red  handker- 
chief tied  over  her  grisly  locks.  She  was  the  living 
image  of  Raphael's  Cumsean  Sibyl,  the  same  wrink- 
led brow,  and  channelled  cheeks,  and  unquenched 
energy  burning  in  her  eye  ;  the  resemblance  was 
perfect,  even  to  the  two  protruding  teeth.*  She  was 
sitting  on  the  fragment  of  a  marble  column,  hold- 
ing above  her  head  a  tamborine,  on  which  she  was 
playing  one  of  the  wild  airs  to  w^hich  they  dance 
the  tarantella,  and  accompanying  it  with  her  crack- 
ed voice.  To  this  music  the  gleeful  bare-legged  girl 
I  have  described  to  you,  having  seized  a  strapping 
companion,  was  dancing  a  tarantella  around  K — n, 
who,  though  far  enough  from  a  Bacchus  or  Faun, 
has  in  his  fine  English  face  much  of  the  joyousness 
of  these  genial  and  jovial  w^orthies.  My  merry  girl 
danced  and  shouted  like  a  frantic  Bacchante.  I 
never  saw  a  mouth  so  expressive  of  glee,  nor  an  eye 
whose  brightness  was  so  near  the  wildness  of  insan- 
ity ;  there  were  children  with  tangled  locks  of  mot- 
ley brown  and  gold,  and  eyes  like  precious  stones, 
leaping  and  clapping  their  hands,  and  joining  in  the 
old  woman's  chorus ;  and  my  pretty  mute  was  among 
them,  with  a  chastened  mirth  and  most  eloquent  si- 

*  Such  old  women  are  not  uncommon  in  Italy.  I  have  seen 
half  a  score,  at  least,  of  living  fac-similes  of  Michael  Angelo's 
Parcae. 


NAPLES.  269 

lence.  Apart  stood  four  girls,  as  grave  and  fixed  as 
Caryatides,  with  immense  piles  of  brush  on  their 
heads,  which  they  had  just  brought  down  from  the 
hills;  and  we  pilgrims  from  the  cold  North  were 
looking  on, 

K — n,  who  had  begun  by  regarding  our  followers 
as  troublesome  sellers  of  "  cose  molte  curioscy^  had 
by  degrees  given  himself  up  to  the  spirit  of  the 
scene.  The  floodgates  of  poetry,  and  of  sympathy 
w^ith  these  wild  children  of  the  South,  were  opened  ', 
and  over  his  soul-lit  face  there  was  an  indescribable 
shade  of  melancholy,  as  if  by  magic  he  were  behold- 
ing the  elder  and  classic  time,  and  that  were  an  ac- 
tual perception  which  before  had  been  imperfectly 
transmitted  by  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture.  He 
threw  a  shower  of  silver  among  the  happy  creatures, 
and  we  drove  off. 

I  have  in  vain  tried  to  put  this  scene  on  paper  for 
you.  I  have  seen  nothing  in  Italy  so  characteristic 
and  enchanting ;  and  when  K — n  came  to  us  in  the 
evening,  I  found  I  had  not  exaggerated,  nor  even 
fully  estimated  his  enjoyment. 


We  have  been  with  our  Eno-lish  friends  to  Paes- 
tum ;  and,  though  it  rained  torrents  through  one  of 
our  three  days  of  absence,  we  had  quite  pleasure 
enough  to  repay  us  for  crossing  the  ocean.  What 
think  you,  then,  of  the  scale  in  which  these  three 
days  are  but  a  make-w^eight  ? 

Nothing  was  ever  better  suited  than  the  approach 

Z2 


270  NAPLES. 

to  Paestum  over  a  wide,  wild,  and  most  desolate 
plain,  wdth  no  living  thing  visible  excepting,  at  far 
intervals,  a  shepherd,  in  the  primeval  dress  of  skins, 
tending  a  flock  of  gaunt,  ragged  sheep,  a  herd  of 
buffaloes,  looking,  as  K — n  says,  as  if  made  of  the 
refuse  of  all  other  animals,  or  a  solitary  wretch  on 
an  ass,  who  appears,  like  the  snail,  to  carry  his  house 
and  household  goods  with  him.  The  approach  is 
suited  to  the  ruins,  my  dear  C,  because  there  is  no- 
thing to  divert  your  attention  for  one  moment  from 
them.  There  they  stand,  between  the  mountains 
and  the  sea,  in  a  wdde  blank  page,  scarcely  ruins, 
but  monuments  of  the  art,  wealth,  and  faith  of  a 
nation  long  effaced  from  the  earth — temples  erected 
to  an  unknown  God  by  an  unknown  people. 

I  could  condense  pages  of  description  and  specu- 
lation from  tourists  more  learned  than  I ;  but,  after 
all,  they  settle  nothing ;  we  are  still  left  to  wonder 
and  conjecture,  as  the  Emperor  Augustus  did  when 
he  came  from  Rome  to  Psestum,  nearly  2000  years 
ago,  to  gaze  as  ignorantly  (and  as  admiringly,  I 
trust)  as  we  now  do. 

The  cork  models  have  given  you  an  accurate  idea 
of  the  form  of  these  edifices ;  but  you  must  see  them 
in  this  affecting  solitude  with  God's  temples,  the 
mountains  behind  them,  the  sea  sweeping  before 
them,  and  the  long  grass  waving  from  their  crevices, 
to  feel  them — to  class  the  sensations  they  produce 
with  those  excited  by  the  most  magnificent  works  of 
nature,  Niagara  and  the  Alps. 

We  stood  before  them,  we  walked  through  them 


,  NAPLES.  271 

and  around  them,  and  then  returned  to  the  httle 
Trattoria,  the  only  shelter  here,  to  comfort  ourselves 
beside  the  blazing  fagots  with  hot  soup  and  mezzo 
caldoy  and  laugh  at  the  eating  and  clattering  parties 
—English,  German,  and  Italian — who  seemed  pour- 
ing down  with  the  rain  upon  Paestum,  and  whose 
vehement  demands  our  poor  little  host  tried  in  vain  to 
supply.  Among  them  was  an  honest  German,  who 
seemed  to  have  come  for  nothing  but  the  "  Paestum 
roses"  which  the  elder  poets  celebrate,  and  which 
he  expected  to  find  as  immortal  as  their  poetry. 
"We  left  him  still  tramping  over  the  wet  grass  iu 
fruitless  search  of  them.* 


Jlpril  10. — To-MORKow,  my  dear  C,  we  leave 
Naples,  and  take  the  first  homeward  step  as  joyful 
as  the  Israelites  when  they  turned  towards  the  holy 
city.  You  may  well  have  got  the  impression  from 
my  letters  that  the  beggars  are  the  only  company 
we  keep  here,  and,  in  truth,  the  beggars  and  the 
street  denizens  (here  lazzaroni,  at  Rome  facchini, 
and  idlers  everywhere)  are  the  only  inhabitants  of 
the  country  of  whom  we  have  much  knowledge. 
There  are  so  few  elements  in  their  condition  that 
*'  he  who  runs  may  read  them."     All,  theoretically, 

*  Aware  that  my  book  is  outlasting  the  patience  of  my  readers,  I 
have  omitted,  excepting  the  few  paragraphs  above,  my  journal  of  our 
excursion  to  Paestum.  My  descriptions  of  the  beauty  of  some  por- 
tions of  the  route  would  give  but  an  imperfect  idea  to  those  who  have 
not  seen  it,  and  those  who  have  need  not  to  be  reminded  how  much 
there  is  to  be  enjoyed. 


272    .  JOURNEYTOTERNI. 

acknowledge  that  they  have  "  organs,  dimensions, 
senses,  affections,  passions;"  bodies  with  human 
wants,  souls  with  an  immortal  destiny;  and  yet, 
while  we  tourists  give  volumes  to  ruins  and  pictures, 
the  Lazzaroni  are  slurred  over  with  a  line  or  a 
sneer.  We  forget  the  wrongs  which  have  brought 
them  to  their  present  abjectness  and  keep  them  in  it, 
and  quiet  our  sympathies  by  reiterating  that  "  the 
Lazzaroni  are  the  most  cheerful  people  in  the  world!" 
and  so  they  are  (except,  perhaps,  our  slaves !)  far 
more  cheerful,  as  a  friend  of  ours  says,  "  than  they 
have  any  right  to  be;"  happier  than  you  and  I, 
dear  C,  if  happiness  be  indicated  by  a  careless 
brow  and  merry  shouts;  but  is  not  the  happiness 
of  a  reflecting  being  shaded  by  seriousness,  looking, 
as  he  must,  before  and  after  ?  and  is  not  the  cheer- 
fulness of  these  people  the  most  hopeless  thing  about 
them,  proving,  as  it  does,  an  unconsciousness  that 
marks  the  lowest  point  of  human  degradation  ? — no, 
Kot  the  lowest  point — I  would  rather  be  one  of  the 
Lazzaroni  than  the  king  of  the  Lazzaroni.  Is  it  not 
strange,  dear  C,  that  people  should  leave  w^ell-or- 
dered  countries  to  come  here  to  live  ?  There  are 
many  strangers,  for  the  most  part  English,  who,  se- 
duced by  the  attractions  of  the  climate  and  the  love- 
liness of  the  adjacent  country,  remain  here  year 
after  year.  Life  is  rather  too  short,  too  full  of  im- 
port, to  be  consumed  in  mere  passive  enjoyment  !* 

*  My  last  walk  in  Naples  was  too  characteristic  of  the  place  to  be 
left  untranscribed  from  my  notes.  I  had  hardly  gone  ten  paces, 
when  a  decrepit  old  hag  hobbled  on  her  staff  towards  me,  crying 


JOURNEY    TO   TERN  I.  273 

Terni,  April  24. 

We  have  left  Rome,*  my  dear  C,  and  with 
feehngs  too  much  hke  parting  with  a  friend  for- 
ever to  say  anything  about  them.  We  took  good 
advice,  and,  instead  of  returning  to  Florence  by  the 
dreary  way  we  came,  we  are  on  the  Perugia  route, 
"which  is  filled  with  beauty,  and  is  beginning  to  real- 
ize my  early  and  most  romantic  dreams  of  Italian 
scenery.  We  scarcely  know  what  spring  is;  our 
change  of  season  is  like  the  Russian  bath,  the 
plunge  from  the  snowdrift  to  hot  water.  Here  the 
muses  and  the  graces  seem  to  have  taken  the  thing 

with  her  cracked  voice,  "  Eccellen  !"  and  I  gave  her  a  few  granifrora 
my  side-pocket.  Her  feeble  blessing  me  into  "  Paradiso"  had  scarce 
died  upon  my  ear  when  I  felt  a  hand  thrust  into  this  same  pocket, 
and,  turning,  caught  a  youngster  in  the  act  of  exploring  it.  I  forgot 
that  he  was  Italian,  and  I  of  another  tongue ;  I  forgot,  too,  that  I  kept 
nothing  in  this  pocket  but  halfpence  for  the  beggars ;  and,  feeling 
as  if  I  had  been  robbed  of  ail  I  was  worth  in  the  world,  I  poured  out 
my  indignation  in  a  volley  of  sound  English,  every  word  as  good  as  a 
blow.  The  lad  smiled  at  my  impotent  wrath,  drew  back  a  step,  and 
pointed  to  a  tall  companion  to  indicate  that  he  was  the  offender;  and 
then  stretching  out  his  hand,  said,  in  the  true  sotto  voce  tone,  "  Ah, 
eccelen!  date  mi  qualche  cose."  As  I  passed  the  Duke  of  Bor- 
deaux palace  a  poor  woman  was  sitting  on  the  pavement,  leaning 
her  head  against  the  wall,  with  a  half-famished  child  asleep  in  her 
arms  ;  she  said  nothing,  but  her  look  should  have  persuaded  some- 
thing better  than  halfpence  iwm  my  pocket;  it  did  not;  my  heart 
was  as  hard  as  the  Levite's ;  and  I  walked  rapidly  on  to  escape  three 
masses  of  dirty  rags  with  human  heads,  hands,  and  feet  that  were 
coining  towards  me  crying,  "  Excellen,  per  I'amor  di  Dio ;"  "  Ex- 
cellen,  more  di  fam."  The  distance  from  my  lodging  to  the  shop 
was  not  one  sixth  of  a  mile. 

*  We  passed  the  Holy  Week  at  Rome.  My  readers  are  already 
familiar  with  its  splendid  ceremonies,  and  as  I  cannot  give  fresh  in- 
terest to  them,  I  have  discreetly  omitted  them. 


274  TERN  I. 

into  their  own  hands,  and  all  nature  is  imbodied  po- 
etry and  grace. 

After  winding  around  hills  covered  with  home- 
looking  houses,  and  peering  down  into  the  deep 
pathw^ay  which  the  Nar  has  made  for  itself  through 
their  ravines,  w^e  arrived  here  at  twelve  o'clock  this 
morning,  and  have  spent  the  afternoon  in  visiting  the 
Falls.  "  If  you  have  seen  Niagara  and  Terni,"  said 
Fran9ois,  "  you  may  die  content."  But  Terni  hardly 
deserves  this  companionship.  The  cascade,  as  per- 
haps you  know%  is  artificial,  the  waters  that  over- 
spread the  country  above  it  having  been  drawn  off 
by  the  Romans  into  the  Velino,  a  small  stream,  and 
sent  over  the  rocks  into  the  Nar.  It  does  not  owe 
its  charm  to  the  amount  of  water,  but  to  its  height, 
its  most  graceful  form,  and,  above  all,  to  its  accesso- 
ries ;  to  the  varied  slopes  and  cone-like  mountains  -,  to 
the  lovely  view  out  into  a  gardened  world,  and — to 
its  memories — Cicero  came  here  from  Rome  to  argue 
a  cause  about  this  very  watercourse.  We  saw  the 
fall  at  every  point  of  view,  from  the  summit  to  the 
base ;  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  w^e  had  the 
advantage  of  deep  shadows  below  and  bright  hghts 
above,  and  the  iris  playing  over  it,  not  like 

"  Love  watching  madness  wiui  unalterable  mien," 

but  more  like  Love  fondly  hovering  around  beauty. 
In  truth,  Byron's  whole  description  is  an  extrava- 
ganza ;  his  "  infernal  surge"  is  so  soft  and  sprayey 
that  you  can  scarce  tell  whether.it  move  up  or  down  ; 
it  might  be  formed  of  the  glittering  wings  of  angels 


JOURNEY    TO    FOLIGNO.  275 

ascending  and  descending.     Byron  should  have  seen 
Niagara,  and  he  could  have  described  it. 

We  came  from  the  fall  by  a  lovely  winding 
footpath  through  tall  chestnut-tress  bursting  into 
fresh  verdure,  and  shrubs,  and  v^^hite  feathery  heath, 
and  sweet  violets,  and  cherry  columbines,  and  through 
the  orange-bowers  of  a  certain  Count  Graziani.  Ah ! 
my  dear  C,  this  is  spring.  And  the  girls  who  met 
us  with  asses  whereon  we  were  to  ascend  the  hill  to 
Papigno,  were  as  beautiful  as  Raphael  would  have 
painted  wood-nymphs.  Terni  owes  a  portion  of  its 
fame  to  this  atmosphere  of  exceeding  beauty. 


Foligno. — The  day  has  been  warm,  and  towards 
noon  we  crossed  La  Somma,  a  high  peak  of  the 
Apennines.  We  had  a  yoke  of  oxen  attached  to 
our  four  horses,  to  drag  us  up  this  three  mile  ascent. 
K.  and  I  walked  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  and 
amused  ourselves  talking  with  the  train  of  beggars 
that  we  accumulated,  not  "stropi  and  ciechi"  (lame 
and  blind),  but  stout  dames  and  pretty  children. 
The  oxen  pulled  sturdily  (the  vetturino  taking  care 
to  let  them  do  all  the  work),  till,  when  we  were 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  summit,  one  of  them  sud- 
denly stopped  and  staggered.  Their  master  detach- 
ed them,  when  the  poor  beast  gave  a  convulsive 
leap  and  fell  dead.  His  owner  broke  out  into  the 
most  violent  expressions  of  despair,  beating  his 
breast,  clasping  his  hands,  plucking  oif  his  hat,  and 
throwing  himself  on  the  ground.     Do  not  laugh  at 


276  LA     MAGIORE. 

me,  for  truly  he  reminded  me  of  Lear's  anguish  over 
the  dead  body  of  Cordelia.  There  could  in  no  case 
be  more  demonstration  of  grief.  Our  beggarly  ret- 
inue forgot  themselves,  and  gathered  round  him, 
expressing  their  sympathy  most  vehemently ;  while 
he  continued  touching  gently  the  animal's  horns, 
and  crying  out,  "  O  Gigio  mio  !"  "  O  Dio  mio  1'^ 
"  che  faccio  io  !"  drawing  open  one  eyelid,  and  then 
the  other,  and  exclaiming,  "  e  morto  I  e  morto !  O 
Dio  mio !" 

This  was  all  unaffected.  The  oxen  were  proba- 
bly the  only  means  of  living  the  poor  man  possessed 
— his  sole  dependance  for  bread  for  himself  and 
his  family ;  but  he  showed  all  he  felt ;  they  are  a 
demonstrative  people.  *''  Do  you  remember  a  story 
Mr.  Hoffman  tells  of  one  of  our  backwoodsmen, 
who,  having  left  his  wife  and  children  alone  in  their 
log  habitation  to  go  into  the  forest,  found  them  all, 
on  coming  back,  lying  murdered  before  his  door, 
killed  by  Indians  1  He  made  no  movement,  no 
gesticulation,  but  said  quietly,  "  Well,  now,  if  this 
is  not  too  ridiculous  !"* 


La  Magiore. — After  crawling  to-day  at  a  snail's 
pace  up  the  immense  hill  on  which  the  old  Etruscan 
city,  Perugia,  stands,  we  were  induced  to  retrace 
our  way,  by  the  report  of  the  recent  opening  of  a 

*  It  is  possible  that  this  man  was  neither  a  brute  nor  a  clod,  but 
that  a  year  afterward  he  exhibited  the  signs  of  premature  old  age. 
Different  races  have  different  manifestations. 


LA    MAGIORE.  277 

tomb  in  which  some  of  the  heroes  of  this  brave  old 
eyrie  have  slept  for  the  last  2500  years. 

After  descending  the  hill  in  a  little  post-carriage, 
and  crossing  a  field,  we  descended  a  ladder,  and  a 
doubly-locked  door  being  opened  to  us,  we  entered 
the  tomb  of  a  noble  Etruscan  family.  Opposite  our 
entrance  hung  suspended  a  bronze  Divinity  "  in  lit- 
tle." There  are  nine  small  vaulted  chambers,  built 
of  square  blocks  of  tufa,  with  a  well-cut  Medusa's 
head  in  the  centre  of  each  ceiling,  and  about  it  dol- 
phins and  dragons,  I  think ;  but  our  survey  was  so 
hasty  that  I  do  not  vouch  for  its  accuracy.  One 
apartment  only  is  left  as  it  was  found  ;  from  the  rest 
the  monuments  and  ornaments  have  been  removed. 
In  this  are  several  sarcophagi  of  travertine  as  white 
as  marble,  and  as  perfect  in  all  respects  as  when 
they  came  from  the  sculptor's  hands.  There  was  a 
half-recumbent  figure  on  each,  supposed  to  be  the 
effigy  of  the  person  whose  remains  were  within  the 
sarcophagus ;  a  curious  portrait-gallery  to  be  open- 
ed to  exhibition  after  2500  years,  is  it  not  ?  Every- 
thing is  as  fresh  and  uninjured  as  when  the  Etruscan 
mourners  laid  their  dead  here.  Why,  the  tomb  oi 
the  Scipios  is  a  parvenu  to  this  ! 

We  had  only  time  for  a  strange,  bewildering  sen- 
sation, none  to  go  into  a  palace  hard  by  to  examine 
some  very  precious  bronzes  found  in  the  tomb,  and 
removed  there  for  safe  keeping,  and  which  we  were 
told,  as  travellers  usually  are  on  like  occasions,  were 
better  worth  seeing  than  all  the  rest. 

We  are  this  evening  at  an  inn  in  a  straggling  vil- 

VOL.  II.— A  A 


278  LA    MAG  I  ONE. 

lage  half  way  up  a  steep  hill,  where,  I  fancy,  no 
travelling-carriage  ever  stopped  before.  Any  rooms, 
with  an  invalid,  are  better  than  none ;  and  our  vet- 
turino  threatened  us  with  the  probability  of  sleeping 
in  our  carriage  if  we  proceeded  to  the  regular  stop- 
ping-place ;  so  here  we  are,  in  the  midst  of  an  Ital- 
ian rustic  family,  all  serving  us,  all  curious,  clamor- 
ous, and  good-humoured.  Teacups  have  been  bor- 
rowed from  a  luxurious  neighbour  ;  a  messenger  was 
sent  a  mile  and  a  half  to  bring  milk  for  us,  and  our 
thoughtful  vetturino  provided  butter  at  Perugia.  So 
you  see  how  extremes  meet.  An  isolated  Western 
settler,  in  a  like  exigency,  would  have  had  recourse 
to  like  expedients.  But  I  wonder  if  ever,  but  in  this 
land  where  grace  and  beauty  are  native  to  the  soil, 
there  was  so  pretty  a  rustic  lass  as  is  at  this  moment, 
with  the  help  of  two  strapping  dames,  arranging  our 
beds.  I  can  scarce  write  for  looking  at  her;  and, 
from  that  elective  affinity  which  I  believe  we  all 
feel,  she  returns  my  glance,  and  a  smile  into  the 
bargain.  She  is  not  an  Italian  beauty  ;  there  is  no 
brilliancy  of  colouring ;  but  such  perfect  symmetry, 
and  such  a  trustful,  appealing,  touching  expression. 
She  skims  over  the  floor  as  a  bird  over  the  surface 
of  the  water ;  I  never  saw  motion  so  light  and  full 
of  grace — it  would  make  the  fortune  of  an  actress  of 
pastoral-comedy.  I  must  ask  her  name,  and  some- 
thing of  her  history. 

Her  name  is  Clotilde  Poggione ;  and  for  her  story 
she  has  none,  she  says.  Her  father  is  dead — every 
one's  father  dies  sooner  or  later  j  her  mother  is  very 


LA   MAG  I  ONE.  279 

poor,  but  neither  is  that  any  distinction  here,  and  she 
earns  her  bread  with  these  good  people  of  the  inn. 
*'  You  have  never  been  to  America  ?"  "  No,"  she 
rephed  with  infinite  simpUcity,  "  nor  to  Perugia." 
"  She  w^ould  Hke  to  go  to  Perugia."  said  her  friend, 
archly.  "Ah!  you  have  a  lover  there,  Clotilde," 
said  L  "  No,  no ;  I  will  be  a  nun."  I  looked  at 
her  gay-coloured  woollen  scarf  becomingly  draw^n 
over  her  bosom  and  confined  at  her  slender  waist, 
and  shook  my  head,  and,  taking  hold  of  her  string 
of  corals,  asked  her  if  it  were  not  a  love-token ;  she 
smiled  and  blushed,  and  her  companion,  laughing 
outright,  said,  "  It  is,  it  is  !  and  she  has  a  love-letter 
in  her  pocket."  Clotilde  at  first  denied  the  charge, 
but  a  moment  after  she  frankly  gave  it  to  me,  laying 
her  hand  on  my  shoulder  aifectionately,  and  whisper- 
ing that  I  might  read  it  if  I  w^ould.  "  Yes,"  she 
answered  to  my  inquiries,  "  he  is  handsome,  and 
very  good,  but  I  shall  never  marry  him^  he  is 
a  "professoreP  She  said  all  this  with  a  sweet  sim- 
plicity that  reminded  me  of  the  poor  maiden  of 
Burns'  lines  to  a  daisy.  She  left  the  letter  with  me. 
It  was  written  by  an  educated  man,  and  had  the  due 
proportions  of  love  and  jealousy.  I  asked  her  friend, 
"  Would  the  *  professor'  marry  her  ?"  "  Oh  no  ! 
Clotilde  has  no  dowry,  and  his  father  will  not  let  him 
take  a  wife  without  a  dowry :"  poor  thing !  It 
needs  no  prophetic  eye  to  foresee  her  destiny,  and, 
living  in  a  Catholic  country,  she  will  probably  end 
the  love-tale  in  a  convent. 


280  JOURNEY   TO    FLORENCE. 

Clotilde  hung  about  us  last  night,  attracted  by 
her  sympathy  with  the'  young  Forestiere,  till  I  was 
obliged  to  send  her  away.  I  gave  her  a  word  of 
advice  which  I  am  sure,  from  her  eager,  grateful  ex- 
pression, she  means  to  follow.  She  was  at  my  door 
again  this  morning  at  five  o'clock  with  a  bunch  of 
sweet  flowers.  Here  I  have  pressed  one  for  a  me- 
morial of  her ;  may  it  not  outlast  the  innocence  and 
loveliness  of  this  "bonnie  gem,"  Clotilde  Poggione  !* 


After  leaving  Magione  we  wound  around  the  de- 
clivities of  beautiful  hills,  and  soon  came  in  sight  of 
Thrasymene,  the  very  image  of  peace,  as  it  lies 
deeply  imbedded  among  these  hills.  Even  our  vet- 
turino  felt  that  this  was  a  sight  worth  seeing,  and 
he  voluntarily  halted  for  us  to  alight.  We  walked 
down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  I  recalled  the  days 
when,  in  our  "  noon-time,"  at  the  old  school-house, 
I  used  to  creep  under  my  pine  desk  to  read  the  story 
of  Hannibal,  and  devoutly  hope  that  he  might  al- 
w^ays  be  victorious.  Do  not  all  children  sympathize 
with  the  boy  who  swore  eternal  hatred  to  the  Ro- 
mans, and  kept  his  oath  so  filially  ?  I  do  still.  I 
plucked  some  grass,  and  baptized  it  in  the  conse- 
crated lake.     The  road  led  us  round  the  margin  of 

*  One  of  my  young  companions  prophesied  that  this  incident  at 
Magione  would  furnish  a  story  for  some  souvenir  of  1842.  It  was  a 
tempting  bit  of  raw  material  for  my  humble  craft,  but  I  preferred  pre- 
serving the  unadorned  fact  to  ingrafting  upon  it  apocryphal  additions 
for  the  sated  appetites  of  souvenir  readers. 


THRASYMENE.  281 

the  lake  to  the  httle  town  of  Passignano,  which  is 
on  a  promontory  jutting  into  the  lake,  and  where  a 
mountain  rises  so  precipitously  as  to  make  it  an  im- 
portant and  dangerous  military  pass.  This  is  the 
pass  into  which  the  "  crafty"  Hannibal  is  supposed 
to  have  decoyed  Flarainius  j  but  why  not  the  "  stu- 
pid" Flaminius,  to  lead  his  men  into  a  trap  between  a 
rugged  mountain  and  an  unfordable  lake  7  Because 
probably  the  Romans  told  the  story. 

I  have  little  interest  in  battle  scenes ;  but  this, 
though  two  hundred  and  seventeen  years  before  our 
Christian  era,  was  vivid  to  me.  The  very  form  of 
the  ground  recalled  the  actual  state  of  mind,  the  de- 
liberations and  decisions  of  this  most  inexorable 
hater  of  Rome,  who,  to  the  pride  of  a  military  con- 
queror, added  the  keen  pleasure  of  success  in  a  per- 
sonal cause.  Hannibal  needed  not  much  supersti- 
tion to  have  beheved,  when  he  looked  from  the  sun- 
ny heights  where  he  stood  down  upon  the  level  plain 
where  his  enemy  was  enclosed  in  a  fog,  that  his  tu- 
telar divinity  had  spread  the  snare  for  them.  This 
alluvial  plain  is  now  thick  set  with  olives  and  grain. 
Yesterday  we  passed  the  bright  city  from  which  he 
turned  aside,  not  daring  to  attempt  it,  and  probably 
■with  a  feeling  preluding  his  final  discomfiture.  Peru- 
gia still  sits  queen-like  on  the  throne  Nature  erected 
for  her,  but "  who  now  so  poor  to  do  her  reverence?" 

We  passed  over  the  little  rivulet  Sanguinetto,* 

*  The  following  graceful  stanzas  were  written  by  a  friend  on  this 
"bloody  rivulet."  I  am  not  sure  they  are  among  his  published  po- 
etry, and  therefore  quote  them  without  his  name. 


282  JOURNEY    TO    FLORENCE. 

which,  with  the  small  town  above  it,  took  its  name 
from  the  bloody  work  of  this  battle.  We  too  have 
our  "  bloody  brook ;"  and  so,  I  suppose,  have  all  na- 
tions had  since  Cain  first  began  the  work  of  kilHng. 


We  passed  last  night  at  Arezzo,  a  nice  town — an 
epithet  that  in  our  sense,  the  old  English  sense,  must 
be  charily  bestowed  in  Italy.*  But  everything  ap- 
pears nice  to  us,  in  the  strictest  and  in  the  most  gen- 
erous sense  of  the  word,  since  our  return  into  Tus- 
cany. We  were  here  before  in  the  dreariest  month 
of  the  year ;  we  had  not  yet  seen  the  abounding,  abject 
misery  of  Southern  Italy,  and  certainly  we  were  not 
struck  with  the  flourishing  condition  of  Tuscany; 
now  it  seems  all  thrift,  abundance,  and  cheerfulness 
— a  cheerfulness  to  be  coveted  and  enjoyed.  This 
is  the  glad  season  of  the  year,  and  this  the  gladdest 
of  all  lands,  teeming,  as  it  is,  with  the  richest  pro- 
ductions of  nature,  and  now  gay  with  blossoming 
trees  and  budding  vines.  The  Tuscan  mode  of 
training  the  vine  is  very  beautiful ',  trees  are  plant- 

"  We  win  where  least  we  care  to  strive, 
And  where  the  most  we  strive  we  miss. 
Old  Hannibal,  if  now  alive, 
Might  sadly  testify  to  this. 

"  He  missed  the  Rome  for  which  he  came, 
And  what  he  never  had  in  petto, 
Won  for  the  little  brook  a  name, 

The  mournful  name  of  Sanguinetto." 

*  Our  people  are  at  first  confounded  by  the  modern  English  use 
of  this  word,  by  the  "  nice  countenance,"  "  nice  ruin,"  &c. 


JOURNEY    TO    FLORENCE.  283 

ed  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet  apart,  in  rows  or  encir- 
cling a  field.  The  limbs  are  cut  off  a  few  feet  from 
the  main  stem,  and  so  managed  as  to  resemble  the 
framework  of  a  basket ;  around  this  the  vine  is  led, 
with  a  pendant  from  each  limb.  Sometimes  they 
are  festooned  from  tree  to  tree,  and  are  often  led  in 
several  parallel  straight  lines.  The  blending  of 
grace  with  neatness  and  accuracy  in  the  Tuscan 
cultivation,  seems  to  me  to  indicate  a  rural  popula- 
tion superior  to  any  we  have  yet  seen  in  Italy.* 

*  Those  of  my  readers  who  chance  to  be  ignorant  on  the  subject 
will  thank  me  for  translating  for  them  a  few  extracts  from  M.  Sis- 
mondi's  accurate  account  of  the  Tuscan  peasant,  instead  of  giving 
them  the  superficial  observations  of  my  own  very  limited  opportuni- 
ties,    M.  Sismondi,  in  his  article  "  Sur  le  bonheur  des  Cultivateurs 
Toscains,"  endeavours  to  show  that  they  are  the  happiest  of  all  the 
people  on  earth  who  have  only  their  own  hands  to  depend  on.    The 
Metayer  system  prevails  in  Tuscany.    The  landlord  furnishes  the 
land,  house,  and  implements  of  husbandry.    The  peasant  cultivates 
the  soil,  and  renders  to  the  landlord  half  the  product,     "  The  Tuscan 
Metayer,"  says  M,  Sismondi,  "receives  from  the  hands  of  Nature 
his  whole  subsistence.     He  has  little  want  of  money,  for  he  has 
scarcely  any  payment  to  make.     He  hardly  knows  the  existence  of 
taxes,  as  they  are  paid  by  the  proprietor ;  and  as  he  has  nothing  to 
quarrel  about  with  the  government,  he  is  in  general  attached  to  it; 
neither  has  he  any  interest  to  settle  with  the  Church,    Tithes  having 
been  long  abolished,  his  contributions  are  voluntary."    "  In  fine,  the 
Metayer,  in  his  relations  with  his  proprietor,  considers  himself  as  a 
partner  in  a  community  of  interests  ;  he  has  nothing  to  discuss  with 
him.    Usage  has  fixed  his  rights  and  obligations  ;  his  contract  may, 
it  is  true,  be  broken  any  year  by  his  misconduct;  experience  has 
taught  the  proprietor  that  he  loses  and  never  gains  by  discarding  a 
peasant,  for  none  will  give  him  more  than  half  the  product.    Thus 
the  Metayer  lives  upon  the  land  as  if  it  were  his  inheritance,  loving 
it  devotedly,  labouring  to  improve  it,  trusting  in  the  future — believ- 
ing that  the  fields  he  works  upon  will  be  cultivated  by  his  children 
and  grandchildren.    And,  in  fact,  they  live  on  the  same  land  from 
generation  to  generation.    They  understand  it  with  a  precision  that 


284  JOURNEY    TO    FLORENCE. 

Had  you,  my  dear  C,  passed  this  afternoon  with 
us  I  should  have  but  to  write  Florence,  and 

"This  brightest  star  of  star-bright  Italy" 

would  rise  before  you 

"  Amid  her  Tuscan  fields  and  hills," 


the  feeling  of  property  alone  can  give."  "  The  terraces,  elevated 
one  above  the  other,  are  often  not  more  than  four  feet  wide ;  the  in- 
dividual character  of  each  is  knovvn  to  the  Metayer ;  this  is  dry, 
that  is  cold  and  damp  ;  here  the  soil  is  deep,  there  it  is  merely  the  in- 
crustation of  a  rock  ;  wheat  thrives  best  here,  barley  there  ;  here  it 
would  be  lost  labour  to  plant  Indian  corn,  even  beans  or  pease  ;  a  lit- 
tle farther  flax  flourishes  wonderfully,  and  the  border  of  this  brook 
is  capital  for  hemp.  Thus  you  learn  with  surprise  from  the  Me- 
tayer that,  in  a  space  of  ten  acres,  the  soil,  the  aspect,  and  *  the  lay 
of  the  land'  present  to  him  a  greater  variety  than  a  rich  farmer 
knows  to  exist  in  his  farm  of  five  or  six  hundred  acres." 

After  enumerating  some  grievances  in  the  existing  laws  which 
cause  litigations,  vexations,  and  disappointments  among  the  proprie- 
tors, M.  Sismondi  says  :  "  The  gentleness  and  benevolence  of  the 
Tuscan  character  are  often  spoken  of;  but  the  cause  is  not  sufficient- 
ly remarked,  which  is,  that  all  cause  of  quarrel  is  removed  from  the 
cultivators,  who  constitute  three  quarters  of  the  population." 

M,  Sismondi,  having  an  estate  in  Tuscany,  and  residing  there  a 
portion  of  his  time,  gives  from  actual  observation  and  con  amore,  a 
picture  of  the  peasant's  life  as  admirable  for  its  exactness  as  it  is  at- 
tractive for  its  beauty. 

"  When  you  leave  the  great  roads  and  climb  up  the  hills  of  the 
valley  of  Nievole,  yon  meet  at  every  step  little  paths,  which,  winding 
among  the  vines  and  olives,  are  never  traced  by  a  wheel,  and  are  only 
passable  for  mountain  horses  with  their  loads.  Along  these  paths, 
at  every  hundred  seeps,  you  find,  upon  some  flowery  hillside,  a  little 
house,  which  presents  the  sweet  image  of  industry  fully  rewarded 
— of  man's  love  of  the  land — of  abundance  and  peac«.  The  house, 
built  substantially,  with  good  walls,  has  always  one  story,  often  two, 
above  the  ground  floor.  Usually  there  are  on  the  ground  floor  a  kitch- 
en, a  stable  for  two  horned  cattle,  and  the  store-room,  which  takes 
its  name  tinaia  from  the  large  vats  in  which  the  wine  is  fermented 
without  putting  it  to  press.  It  is  here,  also,  that  the  Metayer  locks 
up  his  casks,,  oil,  and  gram.  He  has  ordinarily  a  shed  .leaning  against 


JOURNEY     TO     FLORENCE.  285 

with  the  Arno  windino;  through  her  loveliest  of  val- 
leys,  and  the  Apennines  in  the  background  guard- 
ing her  with  its  fortress-heights,  and  pouring  oil  and. 

the  house,  where  he  can  repair  his  utensils  and  prepare  the  proven- 
der for  his  animals,  sheltered  from  the  weather.  On  the  first  and 
second  stories  there  are  often  two,  three,  and  even  four  bedcham- 
bers. The  windows  are  without  glass ;  they  have  only  shutters ; 
but  we  must  remember  there  is  no  ice  in  winter.  The  most  spacious 
and  airy  of  these  rooms  are  devoted,  during  the  months  of  May  and 
June,  to  the  growth  of  the  silkworm.  Large  chests  for  clothes  and 
linen,  and  some  wooden  chairs,  are  the  principal  furniture  of  the 
chambers.  A  bride  always  brings  her  nut-wood  bureau.  The  beds 
have  neither  curtain  nor  valance  ;  but  on  each,  besides  a  good  straw 
bed,  made  of  the  elastic  husk  of  the  Indian  corn,  there  are  two  mat- 
tresses of  wool,  or,  with  the  very  poorest,  of  tow,  a  good  quilt,  sheets 
of  strong  hempen  cloth,  and  over  the  best  bed  a  spread  of  raw  silk, 
which  is  displayed  on  fete-days.  There  is  no  chimney  except  in  the 
kitchen.  There  is  always  in  one  room  a  large  wooden  dining-table, 
with  benches  ;  a  kneading-trough,  in  which  provisions  are  also  kept ; 
a  sufficient  assortment  of  earthen  jars,  dishes,  and  plates  ;  one  or 
two  brass  lamps,  steelyards,  and  at  least  two  copper  vessels  in  which 
to  fetch  and  keep  water. 

"  All  the  linen  and  working-dresses  of  the  family  are  home-made. 
These  dresses,  the  men's  as  well  as  the  women's,  are  of  a  kind  of 
stuff  they  call  mezza  lana  (linsey-woolsey  ?)  if  thick,  mola  if  thin. 
The  warp  is  a  coarse  thread  of  flax  or  tow  ;  the  filling  is  of  wool  or 
cotton.  It  is  dyed  by  the  same  women  who  weave  it.  One  can 
hardly  imagine  the  quantity  of  linen  ox  jnezza  lana  which  the  wom- 
en, by  assiduous  labour,  accumulate  ;  how  many  sheets  are  in  the 
common  depot,  how  many  chemises,  vests,  pantaloons,  skirts,  and 
gowns.  To  give  an  idea  of  it,  we  add  a  part  of  an  inventory  of  the 
family  best  known  to  us ;  a  family  neither  among  the  poorest  nor  rich- 
est, but  living  happily  on  the  half  of  the  product  of  less  than  ten 
acres  of  land. 

"  Inventory  of  the  bridal  clothes  (trousseau)  of  Jane,  &c.,  &c. :  28 
chemises,  3  gowns  of  coloured  silk,  4  gowns  of  coarse  coloured  silk, 
7  gowns  of  cotton  cloth,  2  winter  working  gowns  (mezza  lana),  2 
summer  working  gowns  and  skirts,  3  white  skirts,  5  calico  aprons,  I 
black  silk  apron,  1  black  merino  apron,  9  coloured  working  aprons, 
4  white  handkerchiefs,  8  coloured  handkerchiefs,  2  worked  veils  and 
1  tulle  veil,  3  towels,  14  pairs  of  stockings,  2  hats,  one  felt  and  one 


286  FLORENCE. 

wine  into  her  storehouses  from  the  sunny  hills  that 
slope  down  to  her  feet.  But  you  have  not  seen  it, 
dear  C,  and  neither  the  word  nor  all  the  descriptive 
accompaniments  I  may  tack  to  it  will  give  you  so 
much  pleasure  as  to  know  we  are  thus  far  on  our 
homeward  track,  and  that  we  found  our  faithful 
friend,  Mr.  H.,  on  the  steps  of  the  Hotel  de  York, 
where,  though  the  town  is  full  of  strangers,  he  has 
secured  agreeable  apartments  for  us,  from  which  we 
have  a  look-out  on  the  Duomo,  its  Campanile,  Bap- 
tistery, and  gay  piazza. 


Florence,  as  all  the  world  knows,  my  dear  C,  is 
almost  unrivalled  in  the  beauty  of  its  position  and 
surroundings ;  it  is  most  curious  as  the  best-preserved 
monument  of  the  middle  ages,  but,  apart  from  all 
this,  it  has  interest  to  an  American,  a  claim  on  the 
sympathy  of  the  citizens  of  a  free  and  working 
country,  that  belongs  to  no  other  part  of  Italy; 
Florence  derived  the  glory  and  power  of  its  brilhant 
day  from  its  industry  and  freedom  -,  not  the  freedom 
of  a  few  lawless  nobles,  but  the  freedom  of  its 
working  classes,*  who,  in  1260,  formed  themselves 

fine  straw. — 2  gold  cameos,  2  pairs  gold  earrings,  1  chaplet  with  two 
Roman  piastres,  1  coral  necklace  with  a  gold  cross." 

We  should  be  proud  to  see  our  farmers'  daughters  with  an  outfit 
as  substantial  and  suitable  as  this. 

*  The  Florentines  began  right.  ViJlani,  writing  late  in  the  thir- 
teenth century  of  their  forefathers,  after  telling  us  that  the  finest  of 
their  granddames  thought  themselves  dressed  enough  in  a  narrow 
gown  of  coarse  scarlet  cloth,  &c.,  adds,  "  with  all  this  external 
coarseness  they  had  loyal  minds ;  they  were  faithful  to  one  another 


FLORENCE.  287 

into  twelve  companies  of  "  arts  and  trades"  (the 
seven  major  arts  having  their  consuls,  captains,  and 
ensigns),  and  got  so  completely  the  upper  hand  of 
the  nobles  that  a  title  rendered  a  man  illegible  to 
office. 

There  is  a  curious  memorial  of  the  exercise  of 
popular  power  existing  in  the  architecture  of  the 
city.  More  than  200  towers,  which  originally  were 
the  fortresses  of  the  nobility,  and  which  w^ere,  by  an 
ordinance  of  the  people,  reduced  from  the  height  of 
180  feet  to  80  feet,  are  now  incorporated  into  other 
buildings,*  and  constitute  a  part  of  that  massive 
architecture  which  makes  Florence  strike  a  stranger 
as  "  a  city  of  nobles  of  individual  force,  where  the 
power  of  the  public  was  sometimes  feeble,  but  where 
each  man  was  master  and  lord  in  his  own  house." 
These  towns  were  wretchedly  lighted,  and  the  nobles 
resorted  to  an  expedient  suited  to  their  delicious 
climate.  Near  the  towers  they  built  Logge  arcades, 
which  served  them  for  offices,  market-places,  and 
drawing-rooms.  Some  of  them  still  remain.  The 
unimpaired  Loggia  dei  Lanzi  is  embellished  with 
groups  of  statues  in  bronze,  and,  with  its  Greek 
arches  and  columns,  is  a  beautiful  specimen  of  archi- 
tecture.    The  Pitti   Palace,  the   residence  of  the 


and  to  their  country.  In  their  poor  and  rustic  lives  they  did  the 
most  virtuous  deeds,  and  contributed  far  more  to  the  honour  of  their 
famihes  and  their  country  than  those  who  live  more  luxuriously." 

*  "  The  material,"  says  M.  Sismondi,  "  which  these  private  forti- 
fications furnished  was  employed  for  the  common  defence.  A  por- 
tion of  the  city-wall,  and  the  palace  of  the  Podesta,  now  a  prison, 
were  built  with  it." 


288  FLORENCE. 

grand-duke,  and  fit  for  an  imperial  palace,  was 
built  by  a  merchant,  as  were  many  of  these  immense 
structures,  which  may  stand,  for  aught  that  I  can  see, 
as  long  as  the  solid  foundations  of  nature.  They  are 
built  of  immense  blocks  of  stone,  without  cement, 
and  without  architectural  ornament ;  but  to  me  their 
simplicity  and  strength  are  more  effective  than  any 
decoration.  They  have  a  curious  appendage,  large 
iron  or  brass  rings,  in  which  they  placed  wax  lights 
for  illuminations,  and  to  which  they  suspended  the 
standards  of  the  rival  factions.  They  built  com- 
pactly, to  save  the  expense  of  an  extended  wall. 
The  oldest  streets  are  too  narrow  to  allow  a  carriage 
to  pass :  across  some  of  them  you  might  grasp  hands 
from  palace  to  palace.  I  am  sadly  disappointed  in 
the  Arno.  It  embelHshes  the  city,  certainly,  but  it  is 
turbid ;  and,  like  all  the  Italian  streams  I  have  seen, 
with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  rivulets,  it  appears 
as  if  it  had  been  stirred  up  with  French  chalk. 


We  have  just  returned  from  Santa  Croce,  and 
are  overpowered  with  the  heat.  I  do  not  wonder 
at  the  proverb  that  no  one  can  die  in  Florence  in 
the  winter,  and  no  one  can  live  here  in  summer. 
But  for  Santa  Croce :  it  is  our  third  visit  to  the 
"  centre  of  pilgrimage — the  Mecca  of  Italy."  So, 
indeed,  may  that  sacred  place  be  justly  called  where 
are  the  monuments  of  such  prophets  as  Dante,  Gali- 
leo, and  Michael  Angelo.  The  monuments  are  im- 
mense piles  of  marble  j  not  one  of  them  impress- 


FLORENCE.  289 

es  me  with  its  excellence  as  a  work  of  art.  But 
art  would  be  but  secondary  here.  After  Westmin- 
ster Abbey — after  the  place  hallowed  by  the  great 
spirits  of  our  own  language,  there  is  no  monumental 
effect  like  that  of  Sante  Croce.  It  is  a  sad  thought 
that  we  have  for  the  last  time  walked  up  and  down 
its  long  line  of  columns,  on  the  marble  pavement 
trodden  by  generations  long  gone,  before  the  monu- 
ments of  Machiavel,  Michael  Angelo,  Dante,  Gali- 
leo, and  Alfieri ! 

Santa  Croce  was  begun  in  1294,  and  is  still  un- 
finished, as  are  all  the  fa9ades  of  the  Florence 
churches.  This  is  to  save  the  heavy  tax  imposed 
by  the  pope  on  the  completion  of  a  church ;  and  in 
part,  probably,  from  the  richness  of  the  plan  exceed- 
ing the  ability  for  its  execution.  The  Piazza  of 
Santa  Croce  has  historical  associations  that  make  it 
quite  worthy  of  the  church.  '•'  The  richest  Floren- 
tine citizens"  (bourgeois),  says  M.  Sismondi,  "  hav- 
ing excited  one  another  to  arms,  assembled  in  the 
Piazza  of  Santa  Croce  before  a  church ;  and  there, 
where  now  are  the  tombs  of  the  great  men  of  Flor- 
ence, the  republic  of  the  dead,  was  first  formed  the 
popular  state  of  Florence." 

We  went  quite  to  the  other  extreme  from  this  the- 
atre of  popular  associations,  in  going  from  Santa 
Croce  to  San  Lorenzo,  where  are  the  splendid  me- 
morials of  the  Medici,  the  final  subverters  of  the 
liberty  of  Florence.  The  Cappella  de'  Principi  was 
designed  by  Michael  Angelo,  and  its  embellishments 
in  great  part  executed  by  him.     There  are  on  two 

\^CL.  IL— B  B 


290  FLORENCE. 

monuments  figures  in  attitudes  that  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult for  a  posture-master  to  maintain  :  they  are 
called  Day  and  Night,  and  Aurora  and  Twilight. 
Doctor  Bell  sees  in  the  Aurora  "  a  spring  of  thought," 
"  an  awakening  principle ;"  marble  is  a  hard  mate- 
rial for  an  allegorical  refinement !  The  celebrated 
statue  of  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  called  Pensiero,  from 
its  wonderful  expression  of  deep  thought,  is  in  this 
chapel.  I  cannot  but  think  that  this  and  other  mas- 
terpieces of  Michael  Angelo  throw  a  dazzling  efful- 
gence over  his  inferior  works ;  and  that  in  these 
statues  on  the  Medician  monuments  and  in  his  Mose 
he  has  half  taken  the  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ri- 
diculous ;  but  this  is  as  dangerous  as  to  talk  democ- 
racy in  an  Austrian  saloon  ! 

The  gorgeous,  though  yet  unfinished,  Capella  di 
Medici  is  also  at  San  Lorenzo.  It  is  dedicated  to 
the  monuments  of  the  grand-dukes  of  Tuscany,  and 
all  that  can  be  done  to  glorify  these  mighty  "  acci- 
dents" by  walls  incrusted  with  the  costliest  marbles, 
and  the  most  exquisite  work  in  pietra  dura  is  done  ; 
but  w^hat  is  it  all,  in  effect,  to  the  name  of  "  Gali- 
leo" on  his  tomb,  or  the  inscription  on  Dante's, 
"  Onorate  I'altissimo  Poeta." 

We  have  seen  Mr.  Greenough's  statue  of  Wash- 
ington. It  is  a  seated  colossal  figure ;  the  arms  and 
breast  are  bare ;  one  hand  is  extended  in  the  act  of 
resigning  the  sword,  and  the  other  raised,  as  if  ap- 
pealing to  Heaven.  I  have  heard  objections  to  the 
double  action ;  but  w^hy,  since  they  are  related,  and 
produce  a  unity  of  impression  ?    The  drapery,  too, 


/ 


V 


FLORENCE.  291 

is  criticized,  and  will,  no  doubt,  be  condemned  by 
many  of  our  people,  who  are  intolerant  of  any  de- 
gree of  nudity.  But  what  was  Mr.  Greenough  to 
do  ?  As  he  says,  a  French  artist  made  a  cast  of 
Washington,  while  he  was  living,  in  military  cos- 
tume, and  nobody  liked  it.  Canova  put  him  into  a 
Roman  toga,  and  Chantry  into  a  cloak,  such  as  nei- 
ther Roman  nor  American  ever  wore.  Nothing  re- 
mained for  him  but  to  present  him  artistically,  and 
certainly  the  drapery  is  arranged  with  expression 
and  grace.  The  head  is  noble;  expressing,  almost 
to  the  point  of  sublimity,  wisdom  and  firmness,  with 
as  near  an  approach  to  benignity  as  Washington's 
face  will  bear  without  a  sacrifice  of  verisimilitude; 
good,  not  quite  benignant.  The  subjects  of  the  bas- 
relief  embellishments  are  happily  chosen.  Aurora 
is  on  one  side — a  fitting  type  of  our  young  country — 
and  on  the  other  is  the  infant  Hercules  strangling 
the  serpent :  a  subject  suggested,  I  presume,  by  Dr. 
Franklin's  medal,  and  sarcastically  indicating  our 
struggle  with  the  mother  country.  Mr.  Greenough, 
even  with  his  previous  reputation,  may  be  satisfied 
with  this  work,  and  our  country  proud  of  it.  It  is 
something  to  say  for  our  progress  in  art  that,  in 
forty  years  from  Washington's  death,  the  best  statue 
of  him  is  by  his  own  countryman, 


I  HAVE  been  walking  about  Florence  with  Mr. 
W.,  who  naturally  first  showed  me  some  memorials 
of  his  hero.     Mr.  W.  was,  as  you  know,  a  few  years 


292  FLORENCE. 

since  in  our  congress — what  a  change  from  the  arena 
of  Washington  to  ferreting  out  the  Hfe  of  Dante  from 
the  Tuscan  archives!  Mr.  W.  is  among  the  few 
fortunate  men  who,  from  a  false  positition,  has  by  his 
own  wit  found  out,  and  by  his  own  energy  achieved, 
his  true  one.  We  went  first  to  a  tablet  inserted  in 
the  pavement  of  the  Piazza  diDuomo,  which  informs 
you  that  there  Dante  was  accustomed  to  sit;  and 
there  he  contemplated  this  church,  which,  before 
1300,  as  Mr.  W.  has  discovered  by  a  registered 
vote  in  favour  of  Arnolfo,  its  architect,  was  pro- 
nounced "  the  most  beautiful  edifice  in  Tuscany." 
When  shall  we  have  such  inscriptions  to  mark  the 
haunts  of  Washington  and  Franklin  ?  Might  not 
the  memory  of  these  men  be  made  more  operative 
by  appeals  through  the  senses  to  the  active  popular 
mind  of  our  country  ? 

We  next  visited  the  house  Dante  lived  in  before 
his  banishment,  and  then  proceeded  to  Beatrice's  (she 
had  a  local  habitation)  in  a  street  parallel  to  that  in 
which  Dante  lived,  and  so  near  to  his  that  her  lover 
might  have  signalized  her  in  the  seaman's  sense. 

We  went,  too,  to  Michael  Angelo's  house,  where 
a  suite  of  apartments  are  preserved  as  he  left  them 
by  the  present  possessor,  one  of  the  house  of  Buon- 
arotti.  We  were  rather  surprised  to  find  what  snug 
and  comfortable  apartments  were  enjoyed  by  the  art- 
ist, who  has  so  associated  himself  in  our  minds  with 
the  vast  and  extravagant.  There  are  a  few  charac- 
teristic sketches  of  his  on  the  walls,  shadowings  of 
great  thoughts;  some  humble  relics,  such  as  his 


FLORENCE.  293 

slippers,  and,  what  pleased  me  more  than  all,  a  ro- 
sary, and  shrine  with  its  crucifix,  before  which  he 
may  have  received  the  inspiration  he  infused  into 
his  works. 

We  finished  the  morning  in  the  gardens  of  the 
Pitti  Palace.  Magnificent  they  are  in  extent,  vari- 
ety of  surface,  and  embellishment.  The  entrance  is 
free  to  all.  They  are  not  more  lovely  now,  except- 
ing that  the  country  which  you  see  from  them  has 
the  fresh  aspect  of  spring,  than  they  were  when  we 
were  here  on  the  first  of  December.  The  fountains 
were  then  playing  in  a  warm  atmosphere  ;  the  stat- 
ues looked  perfectly  comfortable  out  of  doors ;  and 
there  were  such  walls  of  laurel  and  laurestinus  in 
blossom,  with  a  variety  of  other  evergreens,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  a  charmed  circle  were  drawn  around 
it,  which  "  winter  and  rough  weather"  could  not 
pass.  The  sun  was  then  an  enjoyment,  and  the 
shade  to-day  a  positive  one,  and  there  we  sat  a  long 
time  listening  to  Mr.  W.'s  romantic  stories  of  the 
stormy  days  of  Florence,  and  to  his  tribute  to  the 
character  of  the  reigning  duke,  Leopold,  of  whom 
we  were  very  willing  to  believe  all  good  while  we 
were  luxuriating  in  his  grounds.  He  is  one  of  the 
few  sovereigns  who  have  the  enjoyments  of  sov- 
ereignty without  its  penalties.  His  territory  is  so 
small  that  he  is  not  of  sufficient  consequence  to  be 
molested  or  to  be  dictated  to  by  his  royal  brothers; 
so  he  gets  on  very  quietly,  is  kind  and  indulgent  to 
his  people,  and  hospitable  to  strangers,  even  though 
branded  as  liberals.    It  is  not  long  since  he  received 


294  '  FLORENCE. 

a  letter  (written  at  the  suggestion  of  Russia)  from 
his  brother  of  Austria,  containing  a  Hst  of  Poles 
who  had  sought  refuge  in  Florence,  whence  Leo- 
pold was  advised  to  expel  them.  You  are  aware 
that  advice  means  command  in  the  Austrian  vocabu- 
lary. The  list  was  headed  "  dangerous  men."  Le- 
opold received  it  in  council.  He  cast  his  eye  over 
it ;  put  his  own  name  at  the  head  of  these  danger- 
ous men,  and  returned  it  without  any  farther  notice 
to  his  minister !  Very  nice,  was  it  not,  for  a  man 
who  has  Austrian  blood  in  his  veins  1* 


We  drove  yesterday  to  the  great  silk  manufactory 
at  the  Villa  Donato,  where  steam  is  introduced  for 
many  of  the  processes ;  but  there  is  nothing  going 
on  at  present  but  weaving,  which  is  done  in  the  old- 
fashioned  loom.  The  girls  were  particularly  en- 
chanted with  four  iron  Doric  columns  supporting  a 
steam-engine,  looking,  as  they  said,  like  an  Italian 
temple.  The  Italian  atmosphere  seemed  to  them  to 
have  subdued  the  principal  antagonist  to  all  poetry. 
The  Villa  Donato  is  a  beautiful  one,  and  its  present 
appropriation  reminds  you  forcibly  of  the  time  when 
the  merchants  of  Florence  were  its  princes. 

*  The  grand-duke's  liberality  attracts  strangers  to  Florence,  and 
it  is  natural  they  should  linger  there  in  the  midst  of  a  happy  and 
beautiful  people,  surrounded  by  a  country  that  is  a  paradise,  and  ad- 
mitted, without  fees  or  vexations  of  any  sort,  to  the  daily  enjoyment 
of  its  magnificent  drives,  gardens,  and  galleries. 


FLORENCE.  295 

We  have  been  to  Fiesoli,  the  old  Etruscan  city  to 
which  Florence  was  once  but  a  suburb.  It  was  built, 
like  all  the  Etruscan  cities,  on  an  immense  height, 
about  as  conveniently  placed  as  a  city  would  be  half 
way  up  Saddle  Mountain.  Those  of  us  who  could 
walk,  walked  up  the  steepest  ascent,  and  R.  and  E. 
were  drawn  by  oxen  in  a  sort  of  sledge  of  the  most 
inartificial  kind.  When  they  rather  revolted  at  this 
mode  of  chmbling,  they  were  soothed  with  the  as- 
surance that  the  grand-duke  himself  had  no  better. 
We  pedestrians  stopped  at  a  farm-house,  where  we 
were  charmed  with  rural  thrift,  cheerfulness,  and 
kindness.  The  womankind  were  all  engaged,  from 
old  age  to  childhood,  either  in  weaving,  spinning, 
knitting,  or  braiding  straw.  There  was  no  misery 
— no  begging.  K.  gave  an  old  woman,  who  fetch- 
ed her  a  glass  of  water  with  eager  kindness,  a  half 
paul,  at  which  the  old  crone  pressed  K.'s  hand  in 
both  hers,  and  said  earnestly,  "  Dio  vi  lo  rimerite." 
The  glass  of  water  was  the  boon  that  deserved  the 
"  God  reward  ye !" 

On  the  almost  inaccessible  summit  we  found  a 
church,  a  seminary,  and  a  monastery,  but  no  remains 
of  the  Roman  Feesulae,  excepting  some  columns  of  an 
ancient  temple,  and  a  grand  bit  of  Cyclopean  >all, 
made  of  massive  stones  seven  or  eight  feet  in  length, 
laid  together  without  cement.  What  a  comment  on 
the  history  of  man,  in  his  social  relations  and  liabil-  ^ 
ities,  this  little  fragment  of  a  wall ! 

But  the  thing  to  go  to  Fiesoli  for  is  the  view  of 


296  FLORENCE. 

Florence ;  truly  a  queen  of  beauty  in  the  lap  of  hills 
covered  to  their  summits  with  vines,  and  olives,  and 
lovely  villas."  Such  a  scene  of  abundance,  grace, 
and  beauty,  of  nature  and  art  in  loving  harmony,  I 
never  beheld.  No  wonder  the  device  of  Florence 
was  a  rose  in  a  field  of  lihes. 

We  leave  Florence  to-morrow,  my  dear  C,  and  I 
have  said  nothing  to  you  of  what  now  is  Florence  ; 
its  unrivalled  galleries  of  pictures ;  that  of  the  Palaz- 
zo Vecchio,  The  Gallery,  and  that  of  the  Pitti  Pal- 
ace, which  is  confessedly  the  finest  single  collection 
in  the  w^orld  !  It  is  in  itself  a  world  ;  and  when  I 
am  there  looking  at  those  glorious  pictures  that  re- 
main in  unfading  beauty  w^hile  generation  after  gen- 
eration comes  hither  to  see  them,  I  feel  fully  what 
was  so  well  said  by  the  old  man  who  for  seventy 
years  had  shown  a  famous  picture  in  the  Escurial: 
"  We  are  the  shadows,  they  are  the  realities  1" 

I  do  not  now  wonder  at  the  love  of  art  which  as- 
tonished me  on  first  coming  to  the  Old  World. 
With  us  it  is  comparatively  nothing ;  in  Europe  it 
makes  up  the  occupation  of  the  idle  portion  of  the 
world ;  and  so  much  does  the  appetite  grow  by 
what  it  feeds  on,  that  I  begin  to  feel  the  danger  (the 
existence  of  which  I  have  but  just  learned)  of  forget- 
ting the  actual  in  the  painted  w^orld.  But  do  not  be 
alarmed,  my  dear  C. ;  though  the  eyes  of  some  of 
us  were  half  blended  with  tears  as  we  looked  at  our 
favourite  pictures  for  the  last  time  to-day,  we  cannot 
yet  say  with  the  dying  Medici,  before  whom  his 
priest  was  setting  the  joy  of  the  heavenly  mansions, 


FLORENCE.  297 

"  Caro  amico  son  contento  col  Palazzo  Pittl"  ("  My 
dear  friend,  I  am  perfectly  content  with  the  Pitti 
Palace !)"  No ;  we  shall  once  more  to-morrow  set 
our  faces  joyfully  towards  our  earthly  heaven — your 
and  our  home. 


Our  route  from  Florence  to  Genoa  was  a  scene  of  enchantment ; 
and,  finally,  when  we  embarked  at  Genoa  and  left  the  Italian  shore, 
we  felt  much  as  I  fancy  Adam  and  Eve  did  when  the  gates  of  Para- 
dise were  closed  upon  them. 

We  passed  through  the  southern  provinces  of  France  to  Switzer- 
land, a  country  as  full  of  excitement,  in  a  different  way,  as  Italy — 
perhaps  the  only  country  that  one  can  pass  into  from  Italy  without 
ennui.  My  book  is  already  too  long  to  break  new  ground,  and  I  fin- 
ish it  with  the  earnest  wish  that  my  readers  may  have  the  happiness 
of  seeing  for  themselves  scenes  which  I  have  feebly  presented. 


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2 


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